#will reread this to edit it later I have to get it posted or I'm gonna run out of mother's day time to make my OTHER posts

[kyouka-supremacy]

Why are you tagging posts with dates from last year? Did you queue them last year?

… I did.

[bookshelf-in-progress]

You know how I said I hoped to finish multiple stories because I'd simplified that tertiary Inklings Challenge idea?

It got complicated again.

[areyouwell]

Algophobia

Noun: An extreme and irrational fear of pain. Children and adults may have Algophobia if they possess an extreme aversion to feeling pain, typically physical.

Ch.7

Ch.6, Ch.5,5, Ch.5, Ch.4, Ch.3, Ch.2, Ch.1 <-

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: nightmares, vomit, uhhhhhhh nothing intense really, for once... honestly can't remember and i literally JUST reread it :')

Word Count: 14.5K

A/N: told ya i'd keep writing. sorry this one took a little extra time, i'm literally on a train in France having finished editing and proofreading the chapter like, two minutes ago so slay boots. can't believe this fic is almost over like holy shit... congrats to anyone who's ready all of it so far because it's well within the world count of a novel and by the end will probably be over that threshold... so slay of us good job teamsquad also sorry if the layout is janky i hate posting from my phone

Taglist: @badbishsblog @reidsworld @idioticstar @toogaytofunctiondangit @ghostyv @wolviesgirl @over-bi-the-wayside @justice4billiam @holyhumorliteraturelight @cxptainbuck @sseleniaa @sadslasher13 @yallgotkik @whyamistillontumbler @maddiedinosaur @bethexo07 @pwpwppeepeoor

Birds. The chittering of swallows, to be exact. Beyond the soft beams of sunlight through the quartered window, the chittering of swallows had caressed him awake, a gentle breeze rustling the orange leaves against the glass, whispering secrets into the light of the morning.

It wasn’t rare Logan woke up before you, in fact, considering how little of a morning person you were, it was rare you woke up before midday full-stop—and this morning seemed no different. Occasional snores bubbled from your chest, you lightly swiped at an invisible irritation around your nose as you turned in his arms, nestling tighter into his chest. Logan hummed a tender smile, smoothing your brow with the pad of his thumb. Your features furrowed as you attempted to escape his touch, unappreciative of the disturbance no matter how gentle.

Huffing a small laugh, he allowed you to burrow further into his embrace, tightening his arms around your body. Six months of this. Six months of the quiet peace of escape. Honestly, he couldn’t be more thankful for the raid on the mansion that day. Here he was, the love of his life tangled in his arms, slowly waking on a sunny, breezy autumnal morning.

His eyes raised to beyond the window, smelling the rain on the air even from inside. Maybe an hour away? An hour and a half at a push. He groaned, realising he’d need to get the bike into the barn before the showers hit. Was leaving the cosy confines of the bed really worth saving and having to scale off some rust later? Absolutely not, but Logan knew you’d be mad at him if he let a splash of rainwater ruin all his hard work.

Pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your brow, your features scrunched in disapproval as she shifted you out of his embrace having to move quickly before you searched for him again and attached yourself to his arm. You whined gravelly protests but settled back down when he pulled the covers back up over your shoulders. He’d make a coffee for you when he came back in. One of those strong ‘morning’ coffees you called them. With at least three heaps of espresso, no sugar, no cream, just caffeine.

Slipping on a fresh pair of jeans and a deep green flannel that you said brought out the colours in his eyes –utter bullshit in his correct opinion– Logan tip-toed down the stairs almost comically slow. He knew you wouldn’t wake. The sun could have exploded and you’d be more irritated if it had woken you up before 1 pm, but he still liked to take care not to disturb you, more out of principle than anything else.

The morning was as crisp as he initially thought, his skin prickly with the cool breeze. He hadn’t bothered with his jacket, since he would only be out for less than thirty seconds. Pulling the tarp from the bike and flicking up the kickstand, he wheeled it back up the small slope and into the barn. If things continued going the way they were going, Logan thought about perhaps clearing out some of the rusted old machinery, maybe making room for a chicken pen, or maybe a stall for a cow or something. You’d be good at raising animals, he thought. And he preferred the idea of getting fresh produce rather than having to head to the store every week or so.

It was an idea that refused to leave his head as he looked around the small space. Just against the far wall, he could imagine a little coop where the old, rusty plough now lay discarded. It would be a ballache to remove it, and Logan didn’t doubt the sharp edges where the metal had rusted away would get a good few swipes in, but it seemed worth it in his mind’s eye to see you crouched next to the nest, holding up a single egg proudly as if you’d laid it yourself.

But if he was to get started, he’d need his jacket. And maybe a thick pair of gloves. Sure, he could heal, but that didn’t mean you didn’t get pissed at him when he wouldn’t take these kinds of precautions, bringing up that one time he said he wanted to do things like a normal couple, to which you’d use to your advantage. “Normal people don’t simply heal their wounds three seconds later, Lo’.”

It was endearing, how much you cared. How hard you tried to keep him safe despite the fact he literally couldn’t be hurt. With a fond smile tugging his lips up at the thought of you, Logan draped the tarp back over the bike, securing the tags around the frame before patting the motorcycle, much like Todd did.

Todd.

Logan blinked. Why did he suddenly have the urge to tear into the man’s chest and rip out his fucking heart? Was his anger returning? But Todd hadn’t done anything, at least not that he could remember. Sure, he was flirtatious with you, but you never let it go too far and it made you laugh, so there wasn’t much harm there. So where the fuck did this sudden urge to split his skull come from?

Taking a deep, calming breath, he attempted to release his anger with his exhale, feeling the rage simmer down slightly, though still extremely accessible beneath the surface. Maybe he was too far away from you. Oh, he was down so bad if that was the reason. He refused to believe it until he left the barn, pulling the bolt shut, and turning to see you in the doorway, two mugs of steaming coffee grasped in your hands.

Was there a better view? He couldn’t think of anything sweeter than what he was seeing, the woman he loved, leaning against the doorframe to the cabin he shared with her away from the rest of the world, safe and free and at peace. Your soft smile could start a war, and your laugh could end it. There was no clean line to where you started and he ended, your very souls totally and completely intertwined.

And you lost her.

Logan whirled at the trees above, searching for where he swore he’d just heard a voice hiss. But he saw nothing other than clouded blue skies and fluttering leaves like an artist’s palette of a sunset. You called his name and he slowly turned his head back to you.

And froze completely.

A small crimson stain started to spread from the centre of your chest, sanguine blood flowing from a fresh wound down your front. Panic leached the colour from his face as he lurched forward, only for his feet to be stuck to the ground. He looked down frantically, tugging at his thighs in an attempt to pull himself free. You were supposed to be safe. He was supposed to keep you safe.

A strangled gurgle was ripped from your throat and he looked back to you just as you opened your mouth, a fountain of blood bubbling from your scarlet-stained lips. Trying to scream resulted in nothing but a rippling stream of sanguine with a guttural yelp. A hand gripped your shoulder from the dark beyond the doorway, a serrated knife dragging a thin line across the hollow of your neck as your palms flew to the arm holding you still in a weak attempt to stop him.

Logan desperately clawed at his legs, eyes unable to look away as Dr.Kreva stepped out from behind your bleeding body, the knife held in his closed grip. A roar tore up his voice, scraping up along his throat as the serrated edge of the blade inched further into the tendons of your neck, snapping through the muscles with a sickening squelch. Your eyes widened as your voice cut off, hands gripping Kreva’s arm falling limp by your sides, light fading from your irises.

Smoke rose from somewhere behind the cabin, and Logan could only blink before the wood erupted into flame, licks and tendrils of scorching reds devouring the exterior. He could do nothing, stuck in a quagmire of his guilt, hands of fire clawing up your legs, igniting your clothes, melting the flesh from your bones. Kreva’s glasses shone in the golden glow, stepping back into the inferno and disappearing as the support beam collapsed.

Staring in abject horror, Logan fell forward, finally released by whatever held his fast. His knees bit as he struck the earth, facing your skeleton lying face down, blackened bones of your hand outstretched towards him in a final, desperate plea for help.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…” He whispered to your vacant corpse. He’d failed you. Keeping you safe was his only fucking job and he’d failed. He promised you he wouldn’t leave, he wouldn’t abandon you, and he’d fucking failed.

The shadows rippled and contorted around your skeleton, rising from the ground to conjure seven figures. The same silhouettes he’d woken up to stare him down six months ago. Simultaneously, their hands stretched out over you, void-like fingers splayed, and your bones began to sink into the earth.

The ghost of your body rippled beneath the surface of the darkness before the black smoke curled up from the soil, an eighth shadow figure reforming from the void to complete what he had suspected ever since he’d read the file. There were eight of you. Eight Subjects.

Nine Lives Minus One.

They were the literal shadows of your past. And it terrified him that you had now become one. Logan’s heart thundered in his chest as he looked between the eight figures, shadowing faces simultaneously snapping to look at him, head cocking at unnatural angles.

The one he knew to be yours reached up to its neck, wrapping its long thin fingers around its own throat, before squeezing. A scream echoed in his ears, tearing at the walls of his mind before he was thrust forward, falling through to reality.

Nausea roiled in his gut as Logan jolted awake, bolt upright. The image of your charring body, flesh dripping from your bones burned in his mind’s eye, and that slight nausea shifted to the undeniable urge to vomit.

Staggering from his bed to the bathroom, bile burned his throat as he emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet, the sounds of his own gagging echoing about the empty stall.

Two months. It had been two months since he’d lost you. And every day felt like thirty. Rage and grief accompanied him like a constant companion. The memories of your laughter, your smile, your teasing comments haunted the halls of the school, corridors once alight with comfort and giggles now felt cold damp. Absent.

They were making progress. They reassured him every long, long day, they were making progress with locating you. Charles had almost locked himself away with Cerebro to locate you, but it was difficult to get a read on anything when any signatures he felt from the once-destroyed facility kept slipping from his mental grasp. Subject One, or Obscurity, was somehow hiding all and any neurotransmitters from the old environment centre. Either that or what whole place was coated entirely with steel, which was also a possibility.

But none of them knew because nobody could get close enough to fucking find out. It was damn near impossible without alerting upwards of sixty armed guards to their approaching location. And whilst Logan would tank the bullets and take them all on alone, Scott wouldn’t let him, and neither would he let him endanger any other member of the team by storming a full frontal assault.

So Logan was forced to wait. And wait. And wait. Every day, you slipped further from him. That first night without you, he’d borderline commandeered the Blackbird to get to Todd. He needed to know what happened. Why he did do it? And it wasn’t a polite conversation.

Rage coursed through his veins as he sliced open the lock to Todd’s garage, throwing up the doors with enough force to break the mechanism completely. Pausing only to sniff the air, Logan growled as he scented Todd’s presence, a frantic Ororo trailing behind after him, placing a weak attempt at a placating hand on his bicep. But he didn’t want to be calmed down. Logan wanted blood. Fuck that, he craved blood. Wanted to taste it as he ripped Todd’s throat out with his damn teeth.

Though the office light was off, Todd’s scent was stronger in that direction, and Logan was fairly certain he was hiding. Good. Smartest decision he’d made in the last six months. Although he would have been smarter to start running the second he betrayed Logan’s trust and had you ripped away from him.

With a balled fist, Logan thrust his hand through the glass on the door, barely wincing as shards of glass embedded themselves in his knuckles. It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to that kind of sensation. And true to his senses, Todd swore from behind the desk, his voice shaky. Good.

“It better have been fuckin’ worth it for ya.” Logan snarled, ripping the desk from its roots and tossing it aside as if it weighed nothing. Various effects scattered about the floor, a lamp shattering upon impact, files and paperwork strewn like flyers in the wind.

“Jus’ w-wait a minute. I didn’t ‘ave a choice. Bastard threatened my family, what would you ‘ave done?” Todd held his hands up in defence, bowing his head as Logan’s adamantium claws slid from his freshly healed knuckles. The man’s eyes widened in horror. “Yer a fuckin’ mutant?”

Ororo’s eyes blanched, lightning crashing through a telephone pole beyond the doors outside. The blood drained from Todd’s face, as the realisation dawned on him that, they were all mutants.

Logan hated how he understood the man’s fear. And he was right. If the roles had been reversed, if it had been you who was being threatened, he would have cracked in an instant. If your safety was compromised, there was nothing he wouldn’t do to ensure right whatever had happened.

“Fuck. You’re a fuckin’ weasel, Todd. I fuckin’ trusted you!” It was taking every fibre of his self-control not to plunge his claws through his throat and rip through his tendons, but he took a deep, steadying breath.

“What happened, Todd?” Ororo asked, her eyes fading back to their natural colour.

Todd sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Round three months after y’all moved in, this glasses-wearing sleezebag waltzed into this shop like ‘e owned the fuckin’ place, askin’ after the pair of yous. I told ‘im to get lost, I weren’t in the business of information. Till ‘e asked about me wife. And me daughter, Lisa. Put the fear of God in me I tell ya.

“I didn’t ‘ave a choice, Logan, I swear it. I’d never ‘ave told ‘im anythin’ if I knew this were gonna ‘appen.” He pleaded, and Logan had to step away to stop himself from at least punching the shit out of him.

“That’s why you called me, isn’t it? Not cuz of the money, but cuz you knew what was gonna happen.” The question was rhetorical. Of course that was the reason. And if he could turn back time, he would have picked up the phone in an instant, no questions asked. Maybe he could have avoided this altogether and you’d be safe and sound, curled up by his side, back at the mansion.

But as it stood, Logan’s mutation wasn’t time travel.

“I didn’t know exactly, but yeah, I knew somethin’ was gonna ‘appen tonight…” Todd admitted, resting his elbows on his bent knees. “I liked ‘er Logan. I did. She was–”

“Shut the fuck up.” He hissed, running a stressed hand through his hair. It was only 4:36 am. You had roughly two hours on him, but if he left now and took the bike, maybe he could catch you. Or better yet, if he took the Blackbird…”

“Logan…?”

No. He’d have to land the Blackbird, which would take far too long and he also wasn’t used to piloting something like that.

“Logan?”

He’d take the bike then. Head back to the cabin with the truck and exchange vehicles. But that would take too long, even if he floored it. Fuck! The truck was nowhere near fast enough either. He had to make a choice here, sacrifice time with the small possibility of catching up to you, or possibly sacrifice you and tail Kreva so he leads him straight back to the facility.

“Logan!”

He blinked, turning back to Ororo, who had her arms folded across her chest, her brows pinched in sympathy. “You can’t go after her. It’s too late. We need to strategise this because clearly, they’re expecting you to follow her immediately,” she explained, and he grit his teeth. She was right, and he fucking hated it. Because every second wasted here was yet another second you were in their capture, and fuck knows what they would do to you this time. The thought terrified him. “Come on… we’ll head back to the school, figure something out.” Logan didn’t move, his eyes hard as he glared at Ororo, the thought of leaving your behind had his gut writhing like a ball of vicious, furious snakes. Storm sighed, realising he wasn’t going to be convinced so easily. “She was a member of our team, Logan. She was our friend. We’re not abandoning her…” There was a determination in her eye that genuinely gave Logan a kernel of hope. She was right. You were their friend. You’d made such an impact in their lives, and they weren’t about to give you up so easily.

With an extended sigh, he nodded. Fine. He’d play by their rules. But the moment things stagnated, he’d fucking find you himself.

“I’ll look after yer truck. She’s–”

“I don’t fucking care.” he snapped, not bothering to spare so much as a glance over his shoulder before returning out to the jet.

That was two fucking months ago. And he was certain things had stagnated and he just wasn’t being told. Scott had banned him from surveillance missions, claiming his fuse was too short for missions such as those, and that if he saw where you were being held, he’d snap and tear through anything and everything in his path to get to you.

Not something Logan could disagree with, but he only acquiesced because Jean convinced him it was their best bet at finding you. It physically fucking hurt not to be involved in your rescue missions, but he knew it was for the best. He didn’t particularly want anybody else hurt or captured or killed or whatever the fuck they’d do to them.

Making sure his stomach wasn’t about to surprise him with another surge of bile, Logan stood to the basin, running the cold water from the tap and cupping his hands, splashing his face vigorously in a lame attempt to wash away the nightmare. Because that’s all it was. Just a nightmare. And despite him having intimate knowledge of your mutation, the fact that the last he saw of you, you were bleeding out on a floor of tarmac, scared the shit out of him. He knew you could heal. There was documented proof of you healing from several bullet wounds, however he couldn’t shake the image from his brain.

You barely knew what had happened before you dropped to the floor, your delicately concerned smile for him morphing and shifting to an expression of complete and utter shock. The crack of your skull on the pavement, the harsh gurgle of your coagulated blood as you spat at Kreva….

You didn’t have a choice. He knew that. He knew your body would have given into the shadow in a desperate attempt to heal yourself of the bullet in your chest, but that didn’t make the memories hurt any less.

That was the last he saw of you, and it fucking haunted him. Exhaling a shaky breath, Logan stared into the droplets in the sink, before raising his head, limp strands of dark brown hair hanging damp around his eyes. His gaze shifted to the reflection of the shower. It had taken him almost a week after being back to garner the courage to use it. Not only because every time he closed his eyes he saw your bleeding chest and blanching face, but also because it was identical to the shower in your ensuite, and it fucking hurt to be near it, let alone in it.

The porcelain cracked beneath his grip, pulling him from his memories back into the present. There were times he wished he could simply let himself be lost to the past. At least he was with you there. But he promised he’d find you. He promised he’d never leave you. And he didn’t intend to break it.

Shrugging on the same flannel he’d been wearing for days and a pair of extremely worn jeans, Logan checked his watch. Two minutes past nine. His lips tugged in a bittersweet smile. You’d be furious. Running a hand down the side of his face, Logan opened the door.

Only to find Scott standing on the other side, balled fist held up as if to knock a few times on Logan’s face. If he had the energy, Logan would ask him what the fuck he thought he was doing, but it seemed the team was taking it in turns to make sure he was alright now and then. Poor Scott. It seemed he’d drawn the short straw on a particularly shit morning.

“What?” He asked blankly, fighting the urge to silently barge past the man. Sure, they may have shared a sweet moment of understanding after he’d lost you, but that was two fucking months ago. And moments of sweet understanding weren’t enough to make up for the fact you were still missing.

Scott blew out a sigh of relief, clearly expecting Logan to simply walk past him. “Uh, Marie’s looking for you. Says it’s urgent? She wouldn’t talk to any of us…” Scott sounded almost suspicious, but the moment he mentioned it was urgent, Logan was gone, shouldering past him and down the hallway. “She’s out the back!” Cyclops called after him as if he needed any kind of help with directions. He could smell a plan brewing from a mile away.

True to his nose, and annoyingly, Scott’s directions, he found Marie out by the pond, alongside Kitty, Bobby, Peter, Jubilee, Julian and to his heartwarming surprise, Artie. All of them were dressed in their gear, other than Artie who’d simply donned a black pair of trousers, a black t-shirt and a matching beanie.

“We want to help,” Marie said by way of greeting, and Logan folded his arms across his chest, releasing a slightly exasperated breath. Honestly, he was shocked it took this long for them all to catch on. He was back, and you were nowhere to be seen. Classes had all but ceased completely and the Professor wouldn’t be seen for days, sometimes weeks on end. The rest of their little team nodded with boundless determination.

His chest ached with the knowledge there was no way he was about to let these students, your students, run head-first into danger, no matter how much they wanted to. “Look, kids, as it stands, we don’t even know–” he paused, having to steel his nerves. “We don’t even know if she’s still alive.” It was entirely true. He knew you were alive. You had to be. He’d feel it if you weren’t, right? That’s at least how it felt to him. You were part of each other now, neither whole without the other. If you were head, he’d know it.

Kitty clenched her jaw, her hands balling into firsts by her sides, and Logan felt a pang of guilt. She knew. She must have known he was lying. She was somewhere between a student and an X-man, hovering between still learning and a member of the team. Being so close to you, however, it also seemed she had been left out of all the fun. His sympathy morphed into empathy, feeling her frustration as his own.

“She’s still alive.” Your friend whispered through clenched teeth, and Logan blew out a sigh. “They won’t let them help, sure, they’re still students, but I’m not. I’m part of the goddamn team, Logan. And so are you!” She hissed, and Marie and Bobby shared a look of concern before Rogue’s hand touched her shoulder compassionately.

“We don’t care that we’re students. You said it yourself, we’re stronger than anyone realises. We can help.” Bobby urged, and if Logan was being honest with himself, their argument was fairly convincing. They were strong, much stronger than even you realised. But he also knew that if–

No. Not if. When they got you back, if you ever found out that he’d allowed the students to help on the mission, he was pretty sure you’d castrate him.

“I’m sorry, I can’t let ya. Not only cuz you’re still students, but you all know, if she found out I was the one who let you help, I’d be killed.” Huffed a smile of understanding. Of course, they wanted to help you, you’d helped so many of them in the past. But he didn’t think that was it. This wasn’t out of some favour for a favour obligation towards you. You were loved. You were so so loved, by so many.

And by nobody more than him.

“Be our spy then.” Jubilee offered from behind Marie, to which Logan raised a brow.

“And how would I do that when? I’m not involved in the planning.” He tried so hard to keep the frustrated growl from his voice, but Artie's slight step back proved his failure. Fuck.

“You gotta convince them. Please? For us?” The hope in Marie’s voice took him right back to where he’d found her almost three years ago now, running from her past. Running from herself. It made sense how you and she got along so well. You were both running.

Pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, Logan could feel seven pairs of eyes all trained on him. He wasn’t one to bend to peer pressure, but at the same time, he needed an excuse for himself to get involved, and if doing it for the kids was enough, then that’s what he’d do.

“Alright. Alright. Damn, you sure none of you has a persuasion mutation?” He asked in a lame attempt to lighten the mood. At least Artie found it funny, the kid giggling away to himself in the back.

Marie beamed in gratitude, leaping into his arms and giving him one of the squeeziest hugs Logan thinks he’s ever received. “I knew you’d help! Thanks, Logan, as soon as you hear anything, please let us know, kay?” She stepped back and Logan once again felt that familiar stab of guilt impale his gut. He knew he was going to have to lie to them, because the moment they found out some kind of progress had been made, they’d be out the door like a shot before he could even start to yell ‘wait’.

“Yeah yeah, just don’t mention anythin’ ‘kay? They don’t let me know anythin’ as it is, so this’ll be hard enough without them thinkin’’m feeding back information to the damn students.” Logan grumbled, running a hand through his hair. “Okay?” He repeated after a beat of silence, only this time to a chorus of nodded heads and various ‘yes sir’s. “Good, now back to classes, all of you.”

“But… Professor Grey didn’t turn up to teach us…” Julian chimed in, to Logan’s irate twitch of his brow.

“Then go and study.” His voice left no room for argument as each student bowed their head in defeat and dragged their feet back inside until his was just him and Kitty left behind. Logan studied her face for a bit, much more crestfallen than he’d ever seen her. “Y’alright?” He asked, though instantly kicking himself for the ridiculous question. She was probably just as alright as he was, which was absolutely not alright at all.

Kitty clenched her jaw again, unable to raise her eyes further than the blades of grass at her feet. “She left again…” Logan’s heart cracked for her. You hadn’t had time to explain anything eight months ago after the attack. He didn’t even think you saw her before you left, unable to say goodbye before you were on the road with him. And now, he’d returned and you were still gone.

“She didn’t want to, kiddo. She didn’t have a choice…” he didn’t know how much Kitty knew about your situation, but he assumed anything regarding who you were, what had happened in your past and who had taken you was kept on a need-to-know basis. He hated every tear that spilled from the poor girl’s eyes, her frustration conflicting her her confusion. Wordlessly, Logan stepped forward and enveloped her in his embrace, finding the way she instantly fell into his chest heartbreaking.

“I miss her so much…” she managed to sob, her fingers clutching onto the arms of his jacket. Tears pricked his own hazel eyes, having to tilt his head up to stop them from falling. He hadn’t heard his own agony spoken aloud like this, and pain wracked the centre of his chest.

“Me too.” was all he could utter back, fighting to keep his voice stable, clearing his throat in an attempt to loosen the lump constricting his breathing. Kitty stepped back from his arms, furiously wiping the tears from her cheeks with the heels of her palms.

“Right, yeah, ‘course you do. Sorry, I didn’t mean–”

“You’re good. It’s actually kinda… refreshing. Everyone tip-toes ‘round me like ’m gonna bite their head off. Can’t really blame 'em.” He shrugged as if it wasn’t that big of a deal. He guessed he should be grateful for the way people were trying to be respectful, but it only resulted in pissing him off monumentally.

“You have been looking like you want to tear the school down recently…” Kitty giggled lightly, and Logan relaxed, thankful he was able to bring a smile back to the girl’s face. His chest constricted as he thought of your proud smile. Teaching the kids he could do. Making them feel better in any kind of capacity? That’s where he fell short, but you excelled. “S’just… Jade was like a sister to me. I hated her for what happened, but we leant on each other so much, she became the sister to me Jade used to be. And I never told her I didn’t hate her anymore. Because I did, or, at least part of me did, but I let that go…” Kitty took a deep breath, tilting her head to the sky as fresh tears stung her eyes. “What if– what if I don’t get to tell her that?”

Logan grit his teeth. “You will. Listen, I still gotta buncha shit I wanna say to her, and there’s nothin’ that can stop me from sayin’ it. We’ll get her back, aight? I promise.” He sounded a lot more confident than he felt, but Kitty blew out a long breath, her tears remaining behind her lashes. If he could bring her some kind of comfort, then perhaps he could start believing it himself. You weren’t dead. He was set on that. But you were in pain. He knew that too. Because whatever they did to you in the past wouldn’t hold a candle to how things had changed in the last seven years. New technology, new information, new drugs.

New weapons.

He shook his head. Thinking about what you were going through wouldn’t help to get you back. And as if sensing his train of thought, Kitty stepped forward and put a hand on his arm. “We will get her back.” She reiterated, only this time it was for his benefit. He offered her a weak, grim smile, before turning back to head into the mansion once again.

Only to be stopped in his tracks by Jean who came sprinting out the door, almost colliding straight into him. She skidded to a stop, pausing as if she couldn’t find the right words. Logan raised a brow.

“We have a lead.” Was all she said, though her words took a moment to register, Kitty came barrelling up behind him. “Or rather, we found a way in.”

Rap rap rap!

A groan rumbled from your lips as you held your pillow over your ears, your head pounding. Your shift last night had been long and brutal, and that was without the endless shots your coworkers poured for you.

Rap rap rap!

“Fuck off!” You called back, hearing a light giggle from beyond your messy bedroom door.

“C’mon, it’s almost midday! You can’t sleep forever!” You attempted to hide beneath the covers of your bed as Morgana opened the door, her face as bright as it usually was this early in the morning. And by this early, you really meant eleven-forty.

“I’m serious Morgo, fuck off. My shift was exhausting and I just want to sleep forever…” you complained, almost hiding as she drew back the curtains to your window. “Morgana?!”

“Get. Up!” She leapt onto your bed, hardly mindful of wherever your limbs lay, before snuggling in next to you, crimson strands of curly hair falling into your face. You sighed heavily. You loved Morgo, you really did, but she could be a total pain in your ass sometimes.

“She still not up yet?” Rowan called from the door, and you swore lowly as he too stepped into your room, followed by Atlas.

“Yeah sure, party in my room. Free real estate up in here!” You called sarcastically from beneath the covers as Rowan attempted to pull them from your body. You gasped in horror, clutching the duvet like your life depended on it.

“Don’t you fucking dare Rowan, I will drown you in shadow I swear to fucking god!” You bit, earning yourself a fit of giggled from Morgana and an appalled gape from Atlas. Your brother placed his hands on his hips, raising a light gold brow as he looked down at you.

“If you could control your powers like I can, maybe I’d believe you, freakshow. C’mon, ouuuuuut of bed.” He strained against your strength as you briefly played tug of war, before you gave up when Atlas stepped in to help your brother, ripping the covers from your clutch with their combined strength and dragging Morgana with it, the girl falling off the foot of your bed with a heavy thump.

“Hey! What the hell?” She slapped Atlas’ thigh and the poor boy jumped back, offering her a shrug of an apology. She stuck her tongue out at him.

“Ya know, I don’t know a single twenty-two-year-old who lays in bed all day. Oh, wait, yeah I do. It’s you.” Rowan poked your now exposed foot and you went to kick him half-heartedly. He took a single step back, out of your range.

“Yeah well, none of you fuckers work nights so–”

“I do!” Erin poked her head around the door, toothbrush sticking out from between her white frothy lips. It seems you weren’t the only one out late. “Well, shometimes, it–”

“Take ya brush out ya mouth, Erin…” Atlas sighed, a hand braced against his brow as if being around you all was exhausting. The girl rolled her eyes, tilting her head up so her minty saliva wouldn’t drip all over the wooden floors.

“It depends on the rota, I don’t work late every shift, unlike you.” She finished, placing the toothbrush back in her mouth and dipping out of sight. You heard the tap run as Erin spit out her toothpaste, returning around the door as she wiped her mouth, “We need to get you a new job, girlie. This one’s destroying you. Honestly, you could carry my weekly shop in the bags under your eyes.” Erin crossed the room with the sole purpose of prodding the centre of your nose, before plopping her ass down on the bed next to you.

You looked at the four of them individually, finding a bubble of happiness blooming in your chest. You loved these people. They were your family. They were everything to you. And despite your shitty job, your long hours, the tiny apartment that the seven of you were supposed to share, and how antisocial Naji was, you found yourself feeling extremely grateful for your circumstances.

“I’ll look into it…” you sighed, much to Erin and Altas’ shared glee. Clearly, he was getting tired of healing your various bar-wounds, coming home with various cuts on your palm from where you’d completely misjudged the fall of your knife when slicing up garnish.

“Knew ya would!” Erin chimed, twirling a strand of her badly dyed green hair between her fingers. Her justification was that she could control nature, so surely she should look green, no? But her original black roots had started to show through and she couldn’t be bothered to go through the faff of dyeing it all over again, so she’d just decided to grow it out.

With an irritated sigh, you stretched your arms high above your head, rolling your shoulders in an attempt to rid yourself of the crick in your neck. “Fine, I’ll get up. God, I hate Saturdays. None of you motherfuckers seem to work weekends either.” You grumbled, shooting an exasperated look to Atlas as he muttered ‘language’ under his breath.

“Did you have ya dream again?” Morgana asked, finally removing herself from your floor and dusting herself off. Rowan and Atlas went to head back down the stairs, where you could now smell bacon rising from the kitchen. Maybe it was worth getting up if Rowan was making breakfast. Or lunch, you guessed.

“Hm?” You asked, having not listened to her question at all. The girl rolled her eyes, slapping your arm as she followed you to the bathroom.

“Your dream? Did ya have it? I need to know more about Mr.Sexy and his hot claws.” She grinned and you snorted a laugh, before taking a moment to try to remember if you even dreamed at all last night. Though your awakening had been rude, you’d awoken feeling a slight panic in your chest which had nothing to do with Morgana storming your room. Although if you were being quite honest, you didn’t really want her to know more than she already did. You had a sneaking suspicion she was writing down your dreams in the hopes that she would dream of your nighttime visitor.

“Yeah, actually, I did…” you started hesitantly, giving her reflection in the mirror a flat look as she clapped her hands excitedly. Erin scooted over across your bed so she could be involved in the conversation, listening through the open door. “I don’t remember much of it,” you confessed, rolling your eyes as Morgana’s face fell. “But it was pretty mundane. We were just…” you took a moment, pretending to try and remember what it was about. “We were just chatting. On a bed, but like, a four-poster bed. Same one as last time, with the whole crossed gun thing above the headboard” It was one you’d genuinely had before, and Morgana’s shoulder sagged in disappointment. “Sorry Morgo.”

“Wait that’s so cute, why’re you apologising?” Erin called from the bed, and you snorted a laugh.

“Because I’ve had that one before. It seems to be recurring.” You shrugged, feeling a little nugget of guilt swell in your gut. Now you’d thought about it, your dream last night had been harrowing. You were caked in blood, lying on the road. He was reaching for you, stationary, the world around swirling and blurry with shadows before you blinked and he was gone. Two months you’d been having dreams similar to this one, or at least starring the same man. He was incredibly attractive, hence Morg’s nickname for him after you described him to her, but you knew nothing about him. Each dream he was silent. You were too. You were just near each other, either doing mundane things or going through what you assumed was the worst moment of your dream self’s life. It was really fucking weird.

“Awww… I wanted something new.” Morgana pouted and you narrowed your eyes at her reflection, spitting your toothpaste into the basin before splashing water across your face in a lame attempt to freshen up and wash away the memory of your nightmare.

Twirling to face her, you placed a hand on your hip. “Yeah well, seems my mind’s just conjuring shit on repeat now sooooo…” you made a face and Morgana stuck her tongue out at you, before padding out the bathroom with you in tow.

“Still, s’interesting you get dreams of the same guy. S’like you’re having a relationship in your head… wait no that just sounds sad.” Erin furrowed her brows in an attempt to think of another way of putting it, but gave up almost instantly. You flopped back down on your bed, leaning forward to your chest of drawers against the left side wall, and the fact you could easily reach the drawers from your bed was a testament to just how small your room was. Pulling out a loose pair of sweats and a grey hoodie, you didn’t hesitate to strip in front of the two girls. Having known them since childhood, it was an uncommon occurrence for the three of you to change in front of each other. And this was no different. Though Morgana’s brows furrowed as her eyes found a scar cutting straight across your chest, from just above your left breast, over the centre of your breastbone, to down below the right-hand side of your ribcage. It was gnarled and jagged, a slice made without much care, but you couldn’t remember a time when you didn’t have it.

“That’s new, when’dya get that?” She asked, eyeing you suspiciously. You’re head cocked to one side, raising a brow in confusion.

“I’ve always had this, whaddya mean?” An ember of concern ignited in your gut as you regarded her for a moment. You watched the way her eyes lost focus, almost dissociating for a moment, before she shook her head to clear the haze behind her eyes.

“Right… yeah no you totally have. Sorry, must be goin’ nuts.” The girl grinned, and you inhaled a relieved breath. You didn’t need Morgana careening off the rails right now. She was the one who kept you stable, or at least less grumpy.

“S’alright. Tough few days?” You tugged on your sweats, already hating the fact that in two hours, you’d have to be getting ready for work. It took an hour to commute to the bar, that’s if the buses were on time and not disappearing randomly. God you fucking hated the public transport here.

Morgana nodded a little absently as if still fighting back whatever brain fog she’d just encountered. “Yeah, something like that…” She trailed off, and you didn’t push any further. It happens to all of you from time to time. You were talking to Altlas the other day about the way you’d all graffiti the walls of your first hideout when you were kids, talking in detail about the first sketch you’d done before transferring it onto the wall. Only, he didn’t remember it that way. You went back and forth for a while, until he had that same faraway look enter his eye, and all of a sudden he was agreeing with you, as if a switch was flipped in his brain.

“Oh! Before he left Joseph said you could have the rest of his milkshake, by the way. In payment for the pasta you made him yesterday.” Erin chimed in, examining her nails, her legs sprawled across your bed like it was her own. And honestly, you all acted like that. The rooms were all pretty communal at this point, you’d known each other for so long.

You perked up a little. Milkshake and bacon? Maybe getting up before midday was worth it after all. Not that it was much before midday now, and in fact, the small alarm on your watch just told you it had just gone twelve. Only two hours til you needed to leave.

Fucking great.

“Kind of him, I’d take it with me if Carlos wasn’t such a stickler for company drinks. I think he’d stab me if I brought in my own…” You half-joked, to both Erin and Morgana’s morbid shock.

“Girl we really need to get you a new job.”

“Like, ASAP…” Morg finished, and you scoffed slightly. You didn’t need one that badly. Just one within the next few years would be nice…

You blew out a breath, standing from your bed after pulling on a pair of warm socks. There was a winter chill in the air, and you were certain this year was going to be a cold one. You could feel it in your bones. Rubbing at your arms, you almost slipped down the stairs, Morgana’s hand instantly steadying your steps in a hand clutching your arm. How fucking tired were you? It felt like your legs straight up didn’t damn work.

“Enjoy your trip?” You heard Rowan call from the stove, and you clenched your jaw against your dumb smile. God, you hated that joke. Or, at least, you told yourself you did, when in actual fact it made you smile every damn time he said it.

“Ha-ha, yeah ‘see you next fall’ you’re so fucking funny Ro’.” Smoothing your brow with your hand, you went to sit at the breakfast far, the rest of your found family having forsaken a dining table upon moving in and instead opting for this slightly decrepit, unstable wooden bar with garish-coloured seats that were various heights. Even the lighting matched the anarchy of the decor, the scrappy bulb flickering every so often. None of the furniture matched in your apartment but to be honest, that was part of the reason you loved it so much. It was chaotic, but it was home.

Your heart spasmed in pain, to the point where your brow furrowed. What the fuck just happened? Rowan seemed to have noticed as well, sending your an inquisitive look, which you instantly brushed off. Nothing to worry about. At least, not yet.

Rowan shrugged, shimmying the pan of baken in his hand before removing three slices and placing them on a plate before you, alongside a freshly washed fork clearly leftover from last night’s takeout they all had that you weren’t invited to because you were at fucking work goddamnit.

“Thanks, Ro’, smells great.” You offered him a small smile, one he returned, before heading over to the far too-small fridge to dig out the rest of Joseph’s milkshake he’d said you could have. You didn’t mind making pasta for him yesterday. In fact, you kind of enjoyed it. Most of the time, when the rest of your family ate, you were at work so you never got the opportunity to cook for them. That was mostly down to Rowan unless he was working the late shift at his apprenticeship, in which case the two of you would leave together and the other’s had to fend for themselves.

It was often a bombsite when you’d return.

With the first mouthful of crispy, smokey bacon, you quickly decided getting out of bed was worth the aggravation, even more so when you dumped a whole load of maple syrup onto your plate. You don’t think you’d ever met a Canadian in your life, but if and when you did, you might just have to kiss them for even being associated with maple syrup.

Speaking of sweet treats…

“Anyone want one of my special hot chocs? I’m annoyed and up early so my treat for having to deal with me,” you grinned a little wickedly into your milkshake, the room whirling in complete surprise, to the point where you had to hold up your hands in defence. “What did I say?”

“Whaddya mean ‘special hot choc’?” Rowan asked accusingly. “I’ve never taught you how to make hot chocolate before!”

“Yeah, I’m with Ro on this one. Since when did you have a special hot chocolate recipe?” Erin almost pouted, as if you’d deliberately been keeping it from her.

You thought for a moment. They were right, you didn’t always have a hot chocolate recipe. You only learned that from…

Wait, who?

And when you went…

Wait, where?

Maybe you didn’t have a special recipe after all. Were you just remembering things wrong? YOu must be. Where and when would you have picked up a special recipe for Christ’s sake? You haven’t been anywhere with anyone to have done that.

Must have been the exhaustion talking. The lights flickered again.

“Must be going crazy…” you mumbled, accepting the fact that no, you didn’t have a special hot chocolate recipe.

You felt something wither away and die in your chest.

“You really gotta stop all those late nights.” Rowan placed a hand on your shoulder, concern etched in the pinch of his brow. It hadn’t been too long ago you and Rowan had fought, the argument you’d had still echoing in your brain. It was over your mutation, and his since it was so similar yet the complete opposite. He’d berated you for not having gained control of it yet after accidentally plunging a supermarket in a blanket of shadow upon finding out they were out of your favourite bread. It wasn’t your fault, really, but you’d made the whole situation worse when you lost complete control.

Three people were taken to hospital.

Two of them died.

You shook your head. Now was not the time to be thinking about that. You’d managed to repair the relationship between you and your brother, there was no point dwelling on the past.

The idle chatter of the kitchen continued as you fell silent, turning your attention instead to the strange series of dreams you’d been having. Most of you only remembered because Morgana would remind you multiple times a day by bringing it up all the time. But there was one thing you hadn’t told her that had occurred in almost every single dream you had.

One word.

Or an animal you guessed.

Or a bug.

Were bugs animals?

Did the animal kingdom include fish and birds as well as mammals?

Shit, you were getting off-topic. Your brows furrowed in concentration, trying to remember your train of thought. What the fuck were you just thinking about? Your jaw clenched with the effort of remembering. You swore you were deep within–

Firefly.

The chair clattered behind you as you shot from your seat, eyes round and wide in panic. What the fuck was going on? Where were you? You could barely register the faces of those around you, but you knew you hadn’t seen them all in a long long time. You weren’t supposed to be here. None of this was real. You were back, he’d found you again. Shit! Where was L–

“You okay…?”

The tension left your body as Morgana settled a hand on your shoulder, her auburn brows pinched in worry. Darkness swam at the edges of your vision, before you shook your head slightly, freeing yourself of your daze.

“Yeah… shit, yeah, sorry. Fuck, what is wrong with me today?” Your voice shook slightly as you gave your family a slightly nervous smile, bending to pick the chair back up. Fuck, you really needed to sleep more. Fucking job was going to kill you off. For sure.

A quick flick of your wrist and you saw you had around an hour and a half before you needed to leave. A heavy sigh blew from your lips as you downed the rest of Joseph’s milkshake he’d so kindly donated to you, before shooting an annoyed look to the bulb as it briefly turned the kitchen into a club dancefloor, before winking out completely.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me…” Rowan lamented, placing down whatever protein shake he’d opted for the morning and dragging over a barstool to stand on. “I told Naji we needed to get this shit fixed and he told me he’d text the landlord, but this is just–”

None of you were strangers to natural phenomena. You were fucking mutants, for Christ’s sake, your very existence was a natural phenomenon. However, watching a barstool blink out of existence entirely wasn’t exactly on your list of things you’d ever seen. Or even things you would like to see. Rowan was cut off midsentence as he crashed to the floor.

You all stood in utterly stunned silence.

“Y’all saw that too, right?” Erin asked, glancing warily around the room before taking a small step toward Atlas next to the window. Well, that was one suspicion you’d had confirmed then. Tension thickened the air, static apprehension making your saliva sweet and your breath hot. What the fuck was going on?

Rowan stood from the ground, dusting himself off, his gaze tracking warily around the perimeter of the room. Another mutant, perhaps? It wasn’t exactly common in the area, but it wasn’t unheard of. Some poor kid with shitty control over their new mutation discovers their first big act of power was accidentally erasing a barstool out of existence. “Chill out, it’s most likely a power cut or some new electromagnetic mutation. We’re fine.” Rowan attempted to soothe, though his voice was anything but convincing. Especially when a squeaked gasp emitted from next to the window, where Atlas had flipped up the blind to the outside world.

“Does the sun get power cuts too? Or did you just absorb a bunch of light this morning, Ro?” Morgana asked, though her eyes were trained on the pitch black outside the crummy window. You crossed the kitchen alongside Rowan, the five of your leaning out of the window to get a good look at whatever the fuck was going on.

Or rather… not going on.

“What the hell…?” Rowan muttered as you all watched the outside world flicker in and out of existence. One second it would be the neighbourhood you’d come to know so well, the next the sky turned grey and grainy, like an old TV trying to find signal. The flat next door would completely disappear, replaced by walls of steel. Your heart raced, stomach flipping.

“Joseph’s still at work…” You breathed, and Morgana turned to you as if she’d only just realised it too, fear flickering in her dark crimson eyes.

“I’ll text him, let me–” Atlas was cut off swiftly, the floor beneath your feet flickering, before that too completely disappeared, and you were all plummeting to the ground. Wind whipped at your hair as you desperately flung your arms out in search of a shadow.

“ERIN!” Morgana screamed as Erin’s hand extended before her, attempting to search for some kind of plant life. But your flat had become nothing, merely glitches of light around you. A strong arm circled your waist and turned to see Rowan’s golden eyes wide with fear.

“My shadow!” He called, flipping the two of you so you were beneath him. You didn’t think twice, trusting he had a plan before your molecules dissolved into the darkness across his front. You could still hear the rush of wind, Morgana’s cry of pain before the descent started to slow and you could sense various shadows around you growing. The moment your world seemed solid enough, you reformed, your eyes taking a moment to adjust before you registered Altas healing the nasty looking cut on Morgana’s hand, blue glowing particles rising from where his palm encased her hand.

She must have slowed your fall, the steel floor now a pool of blood where she’d borderline drained herself to save the rest of you. Wordlessly, you crossed to where she swayed slightly, placing her arm around your shoulder to act as a support.

“Thanks…” She murmured, closing her eyes to recover from that woozy feeling of using too much of her power. You went to brush off her gratitude, to tell her it was the least you could do after she’d just saved your lives, before part of the wall before you started to close in an inch. With a hiss and a screech, the steel split in two, casting a rectangle of blinding light and causing you all to throw up your hands.

“Guys?”

You all knew that voice, and there was a collective sigh of relief when Joseph stepped through the door. But the voice you knew to be full of jokes and laughter sounded exhausted, beaten. Defeated. Where the fuck had he been?

“Joes? What the fuck is going on?” Rowan called, dimming the light so you could all remove your hand-shaped shields from your eyes. “Where’ve you– Holy shit are you okay?” Rowan ran forward, catching Joes as his knees buckled and he crumpled to the ground.

A gasp flew from your lips. He was caked in blood. And not in the way Mogana would be if she somehow lost control. He’d been hurt. Badly. Almost surgically. Various parts of his skin had been removed to leave behind raw, pulsing muscle exposed to the outside. His face had been all but completely disfigured, where his eyes used to be dark and inviting, the whites were now bloodshot and his pupils dilated.

“Move,” Atlas instructed sternly, Rowan shifting slightly to the side before he lay his hands on Joes’ chest in the same way he did for Morgana, those same blue particles rising and winding around Joes like grapevines, dipping into his various wounds and closing them over.

“They’re here to help us,” Joes muttered, his head lolling to look back out the gap in the wall. What the fuck was he talking about? Help you do what? One moment you were all having brunch and you were sipping a milkshake, the next your fucking flat had disappeared and you’d all plummeted fifty feet straight down.

You cast Morgana a confused glance, now recovering quickly, and she sent you one right back. “Who’s here?” You asked, eyes lingering on the fear in Morgo’s before Joes pointed out beyond the darkness and into the light.

Three elongated shadows shrouded the light, but it was the one in the centre who drew your attention. Broad-shouldered, strong-armed, with two little flicks of hair licked up either side of his head. You knew that outline, like a memory forgotten, or a faded dream. With the light behind them, you couldn’t see their faces, but you could see they all wore the same suits. The girl on the right gasped, her hands covering her mouth as she almost fell to her knees.

Morgana tilted her head in confusion, and you shrugged, not taking your eyes from the three shrouded figures.

Though you felt a well of unspecific emotion rise in your chest as the man in the centre spoke, his tone soft, voice deep and gruff.

“Hey, firefly.”

Logan didn’t know what he would say to you when he saw you again. When Jean had told him they’d found a lead, he expected it to be at least another month before anything would actually happen about it. He wasn’t expecting the entire team to have assembled already, suits and all, prepared to head out that night. His chest constricted with impatience when the team were stalking the halls. He knew they all had the element of surprise, but if he was being honest, stealth was never really his strong suit. He just wanted to find you. He just wanted to hold you and apologise as many times as he needed to in order to ease the heavy weight of guilt off his shoulders.

What would he say to you? How much he’d fucking missed you? How sorry he was he couldn’t protect you. How he’d promised he’d keep you safe and then lost you? But the moment those doors opened and he saw you, with Sanguine leaning heavily on your shoulders, all and any words quickly left his mind. You looked tired. That wasn’t to say you didn’t always look tired, but you looked fucking exhausted. Dangerously skinny, as well. The muscles on your arms had all but faded, your cheeks had hollowed, and your neck looked like it could be snapped with a light breeze. Fuck you looked so fragile.

“We’re gonna get you out, okay?” Logan took a step forward, only for you and the rest of the mutants to take a step back. A spear thudded into the centre of his soul as he watched you try to figure out what was going on. But it was the look in your eyes that shattered every fibre of his being.

Unfamiliarity.

You had no idea who he was.

“They don’t remember,” Joes said, rising from the floor once Atlas had taken a step back away from Logan, Scott and Kitty. She’d insisted she came with the rest of the team and said she’d just hide in the walls anyway, so they may as well take her along willingly. Scott begrudgingly agreed.

“We don’t remember what?” Logan’s eyes slid to the man with the golden hair and eyes, who looked remarkably similar to you. Rowan. His eyes narrowed. “Joes what the fuck is going on? What don’t we remember? Who are you fuckers?”

“Rowan!” The man next to him hissed. Judging from his appearance and general attitude, Logan guessed that must have been Atlas, or Harmony. He’d already run into Joseph, and rescued him when Ororo controlled enough lightning to short out their electrical units, plunging the facility into total darkness. All that was left of that practice room was blood and entrails.

Logan had made sure of it.

“None of this is real, Ro’. They’ve been forcing Naji to fuck with our minds, man. Every time one of us goes to ‘work’, they take us out into the real world and fuck with us. You saw the state I was in, man. C’mon!” Joseph pleaded, and Logan could see the cogs turning in your brain as if trying to process what he was saying.

“The fuck are you talking about?” The girl with the bright green hair piped up, boldly stepping towards Joseph and dragging him back towards the rest of the group protectively. “Who’s ‘they’? Whaddya mean fuck with us?”

“Naji wouldn’t do that, Joes.” Your just managed to keep the tremor from your voice, dropping Morgana’s arm from around your shoulders and taking a cautious step towards your brother. What the fuck was going on? You looked between the three newcomers, the girl on the right stepped forward, and your eyes narrowed on her. “Another step and you’re dead.” You hissed, extending your hand behind you to the shadows as if you could do anything but disappear into them. Morgana drew out her knife from her boot and sliced open her palm, blood swirling and morphing until three sharp spears floated above her head.

“Let’s all just take a breath…” Logan murmured in an attempt to soothe the rising tensions in the room. Why he’d thought this would go smoothly, he had no idea and found his present self kicking his past self for making such stupid fucking assumptions. He held out his palms in peace, trying in vain to come across as non-threatening as possible, his eyes trained on you. “It’s okay…” His brows pinched as you looked at him with disdain.

Who the fuck was this guy? Sure he looked and sounded exactly the same as your dream visitor, but you refused to believe they were one of the same. Just some freaky coincidence, and you didn’t even know if his mutation was the same. He hadn’t shown anything yet, and for all you knew, it could be something completely different.

But a hole of doubt had burned through your gut.

“Wait… isn’t that–”

“Shut the fuck up, Morgo.” You hissed before Morgana could even finish her inquiry. You knew exactly what she was about to ask, you’d felt her eyes flicker between you and the man ever since he’d called you firefly.

Total coincidence…

“She has a point though. Naji wouldn’t do that to us. Sure he’s antisocial and spends most of his time in his room, but we’re still his friends. His family. He wouldn’t do that… would he?” Uncertainty laced Erin’s tone as she eyed the three outsiders suspiciously, reaching into her back pocket. You glanced her way, holding your breath. You knew what he had stored away in her cargo pants, not just in her back pocket, but in all of them. Various seeds for every variety of plant you could think of, her favourite being the Venus fly trap because of course that was Erin’s favourite plant.

Logan’s chest spasmed at Erin’s words. He knew he was going to have to take them all to Charles and return their memories to them. Not knowing what would happen to the bonds you’d all made with each other terrified him. What if that just made everything ten times worse? What if you and the others remembered everything and decided to go along with Kreva’s plan? He’d already seen Rowan, Morgana and Joseph working for Kreva…

What would stop them this time?

“This is taking too damn long…” Scott muttered, throwing a glance behind his shoulder to make sure nobody was sneaking up on them. Logan couldn’t help but agree. It was taking far too long. He didn’t want to take any of you by force. That was a last resort, and only if you couldn’t be convinced. If it went against your current wishes, he honestly didn’t give a fuck. You weren’t safe here. You were back where you started, and he’d be fucking damned if he was leaving without you today. Taking the others was a luxury, taking you was the priority.

“Let me talk to them. Please. They don’t know what’s going on. Naji restores our memories before the testing begins, but they’re always erased and replaced when we come back. They don’t know anything, just give them time.” Logan couldn’t help but feel sorry for Joseph. He was the only one out of the group, perhaps other than Naji, who knew what was going on and was stuck between saving his friends and getting the fuck out of there.

“You have thirty seconds.”

“Scott!” It was the first time Kitty had spoken up since seeing you, and to be honest, Logan had almost completely forgotten she was there. She’d been non-verbal, dealing with whatever she was dealing with after seeing you in the state you were in for the first time in two months. Now, however, she seemed to have recovered.

Unlike Logan, who still found it difficult to look at you, yet equally difficult to look away.

“Thank you, man,” Joseph nodded his head in gratitude, before turning back to the rest of the group. “Look, I don’t know how to convince you, but they got a mutant back at this crazy mutant school that can help get your memories back. He’s like, the only one other than Naji who can do it.”

“If this is true,” you began, folding your arms across your chest in a way that had Logan holding his breath, the familiarity nauseating. “Then why don’t we just ask Naji to restore them? He’s our fucking friend, Joes. Why would he do this?” You implored him to see reason. To see that there was no reality where Naji would work against the group, antisocial or not.

“Because they’ve–”

“Now now, Subject Three. Don’t go spoiling all of our secrets now, will you?”

The hairs on the back of your neck prickled, though the voice meant nothing to you. You didn’t recognise it at all, but you noticed the way the three newcomers all bristled and the way Joes seemed to shrivel in fear. Following ‘Scott’’s gaze, you looked up to see Naji, bruised and beaten, his neck held in a vice grip by some formless, faceless figure with a large gun slung over his back. The mirrored window had been smashed open, blood leaking from Naji’s knuckles as his legs dangled over the side, held out over the shattered glass by the throat.

“Joes…” Rowan growled in instruction, the rest of you already being on the same page. Joes could teleport not only himself but various other people of different numbers depending on size and mass. But the man just stood there, his eyes wide, nostrils flaring in utter terror as Naji gurgled and fought against the hold around his neck.

“Kreva.” You heard the muscular man behind you snarl, and your mind did somersaults as three long, razor-sharp claws slid from his knuckles. There was no point in denying it anymore. It was most definitely the same mutant from your dreams.

“Ah, The Wolverine. How darling to see you again. Here for Subject Eight, I presume? There’s no point. It remembers nothing of your cosy little forest getaway.” Dr Kreva covered his mouth theatrically, gasping as if he’d made a terrible mistake. “Oh no, have I said too much? No matter. Once all you X-men are disposed of, this will be nothing but a bad dream to them. Isn’t that right, Eight?” It took a moment to realise the skinny, crooked-nosed man was addressing you, but how the fuck were you supposed to know that when he wasn’t even calling you by your name. And what the fuck did he mean by ‘cosy forest getaway’? You’d never even left the city.

“The fuck is going on…?” You asked aloud, taking a step back and towards Joes, who was still stuck in frozen, abject horror. “Joes… you gotta get him. He’s gonna fucking kill him!” You hit his arm with enough force to break the man from his terror-stricken paralysis, only for him to blink away from you, shaking his head wildly as if his mind was a wasp’s nest, his nails digging into either side of his temple.

“No no no nono nononononono–” Your mouth fell agape in fear as he fell to his knees, small rivulets of blood leaking down either side of his face as he clawed at the sides of his head.

“Joes?”

“Joes!”

“The hell?”

Adrenaline pumped through your blood as you slowly started to realise whatever the fuck was going on, it very much was not good. In fact, it was most likely that all of your lives were on the line. And you knew that right here, right now, you had to make a choice. You all did.

“You got a clear shot, Scott?” Kitty asked, stepping behind Logan slightly. Though he didn’t mind. As long as she was safe and out of the line of whatever fire could come their way, he was more comfortable. Now if only he could get you in a similar way.

“Lined up.”

“Don’t shoot!” Rowan waved his arms frantically as Scott’s fingers braced against his glasses, jumping between the mutant and his friend. “If you shoot Naji’s dead, for sure. Just– just hold on, okay? We can figure this out.” He pleaded, to the amusement of Dr. Kreva from above, his cackling laughter sure to haunt your nightmares for a good long while after.

“Oh, Five… always the peacekeeper. Always the pacifist. It’s a shame you’re such a killing machine, though nothing like your sibling. We should showcase that, Eight. Show them all what you’re capable of…” Kreva placed a thumb and forefinger beneath his chin mockingly, once again making a show of having you all at his mercy. “In fact… One, if you could. Not too much though, just enough to unleash the Phantom.” You felt your blood turn to ice in your veins. That was your mutant name… how the fuck did he–

Pain ripped through your mind as you fell to your knees, your hands biting painfully as you caught yourself before you broke your nose on the ground. Though where you should have felt cold steel, you instead heard the groaning of tight leather and a low grunt of impact.

It felt as if you were being unstitched, torn open with a rusty knife. Your head split apart and searched inside as Naji’s mutation invaded your conscience. You heard a scream coming from somewhere but were too focused on trying to stay sane as memory fragments of pure agony were thrust into the inner walls of your mind, scraping down your subconscious. White hot pain laced through your throat and you finally realised it was you screaming, your voice cracking and breaking as you fought Naji’s hold.

Rowan screamed your name as Logan lunged forward to catch your fall, dragging you into his lap and holding your arms by your sides. “We gotta go!” He roared to Scott, who nodded in agreement, barking out orders just as Kurt bamfed into existence. Morgana reached for you as Kurt placed his three-fingered hand on her shoulder, her desperate scream cut short as she was teleported from the room. Logan turned his attention back to you, back to the searing torment etched on your face as you writhed in his arms. “I know baby, I know, it hurts, just hold on.” He called your name soothingly, though his voice shook. Seeing you like this, in such pain, ripped at his self-control. And he loathed how you would have to do this all again when he got you back home.

What Logan didn’t know, was that you’d heard his voice, and held onto it. You wouldn’t let yourself be manipulated so easily. Fighting Naji hurt. It hurt like hell. He was fucking strong, winding a white-hot thread of memories throughout your head, but you thrashed and flailed from his twisting web, using your dream visitor’s voice as an anchor point.

“What’s happening to her?” Logan’s eyes left your face for two seconds to meet with a pair of golden ones he’d only ever seen fighting against him. Rage flared in his gut as he thought of the man who’d assisted in your capture, but this wasn’t the same guy. Sure, he had his body and his face and his powers, but this was a sibling. A brother. He was your brother, and Logan could see that in the way terror pinched his brows and widened his eyes.

“I don’t know, but we need to get her out. Now.” Logan responded, removing a hand from your arm to smooth back your hair as your neck all but snapped backwards, head almost rolling off his lap completely as your entire body contorted violently. It was getting worse.

Rowan nodded, a flicker of determination glittering in his golden eyes, before extending his hand out towards the light. “I can buy you time. Get her safe,” he instructed, and Logan found his rage toward him settling slightly. “I’m R–”

“Rowan. Yeah, I know. She spoke about you a shit ton.” He gave Rowan a half smile as his head tilted in confusion. Logan held out his hand. “Logan.”

Though the bafflement didn’t fade, Rowan shook his hand nonetheless, before getting to his feet, his hand still extended towards the light. “When I say run, run.”

“Thought you were a pacifist?” Logan asked, holding you tight against his chest as he lifted you from the ground, the shadows in the room now quivering in anticipation. Naji was winning. With a glance to both Scott and Kitty, he could see they’d been listening in and were ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.

“Not when they threaten my fucking sister,” He spat, the skin along his forearms and neck beginning to glow a bright, blinding white. “Go.” Was all he said, before the room erupted in sunlight, and Logan took off at a sprint, keeping you close to his heart. He had you back physically, your strained breaths and grunted whimpers told him that much.

Now he just needed to get you back mentally. And for that, he needed Charles.

“S’okay, you’re okay, just a little longer baby, I know…” he soothed as he raced round the corner, struggling to hold you still as you fought his hold, the darkness of the corridor lashing out in great, spiked tendrils, slashing at his arms and legs and leaving searing lines of crimson through the leather of his suit. His stomach flipped as he looked down at you, your spine arching back, head snapping, eyes rolling up behind your skull leaving behind nothing but black, hollow darkness. He was losing you. Fuck, he was losing you.

“C’mon on sweetheart, c’mon.” He ground, feet pounding against the floor as one of his shoulders was ripped back, knives of pure shadow tearing through flesh. He grit his teeth against the pain, racing through a set of open doors and launching the two of you towards the stairs, taking them two steps at a time. Your mouth opened as you released a strangled scream, your limbs jerking and flailing in his grasp, Logan almost losing his grip on your writhing body. Tucking your head between his collar and jaw, he pressed on until he could finally see the service door they’d snuck in through. “S’okay, not much farther now. Keep fightin’ him, firefly. You gotta keep fightin’.”

Serrated knives tore through your memories, flashes of pure, unadulterated agony rushing your nerves, setting your veins alight with liquid fear. Thrashing your head back, you attempted to clear your mind’s eye of Naji’s hold, razorwire slicing at the base of your brain. You had very little knowledge of brain anatomy, only knowing the basics, but you knew for certain he was attempted to break through your hippocampus both physically and hypothetically. But you held onto him. Onto the man who, in turn, held you. A kernel of safety shining within the ocean of fiery anguish. You held onto his voice, their meaning.

Shadows swirled around your wrists, encasing your hands in two sets of obsidian claws, raking down both sides of Logan’s arms. You were losing the battle, he knew you were, if Joseph was right and you didn’t remember anything, there was no way you’d have this kind of control over your mutation. Using his already-healed shoulder, he burst through the locked service door and barrelled down the stone tunnel, out into the night-air. He didn’t know what Obscurity’s range was for his mutation, but he had to assume it was limitless. Anything less and he was likely to let his guard down.

Breath burned in his lungs as he sprinted for the jet, hearing the door behind him open and close another two times for both Scott and Kitty. He didn’t know how many of your friends Kurt had managed to rescue, but it didn’t matter to him. You were there, in his arms. And as long as that was his reality, he didn’t give a shit about anything else.

His feet thundered against the metal of the ramp, and ducking into the deck of the Blackbird, he was greeted by an extremely concerned-looking Jean the moment her eyes lay on you.

“Help me…” Logan begged, collapsing to his knees, and the redhead wasted no time in extending her hand towards your rapidly twitching head, veins of pitch black etching their way up your neck towards your temples. Instantly, Jean grimaced, her mouth gaping in some unseen pain as she entered your mind. All Logan could do was sit and watch helplessly as she engaged in some kind of mental battle with Naji. Her brows pinched with effort, the tendons along the backs of her hands flexing and tensing with strain. Logan desperately swiped your sweat-matted hair from your brow as if to clear a better path for Jean’s mutation.

“Jean!” Scott barked, fear echoing around the deck of the jet as he lunged forward towards his girlfriend, only to be held back by Ororo, who looked utterly exhausted. She’d been high above the facility, concentrating on keeping the power down with various surges of lightning. And now she looked completely spent.

Slowly, gradually, your twitching started to cease, each muscle in your body relaxing separately as Jean managed to exorcise your mind of Naji’s manipulation, until you sagged in Logan’s arms, your breathing steady, your eyes closed as if you were just sleeping. Scott broke free of Ororo’s hold, rushing for Jean before she collapsed onto the hard ground. “You okay?” He asked, bracing her face in between his palms. Jean offered him a tired nod, a small smile pulling at her lips.

“Got her back.” She murmured, and Logan clenched his jaw to stop tears welling in his eyes. He gently manoeuvred your body to lie comfortably in his lap, the back of your head nestled in the crook of his elbow, his arm encasing your waist. You were back.

You were back.

Kitty knelt beside you, a hand grasping your limp, skeletal one, tears silently sliding down her cheeks. Logan knew what she was thinking. What she was contemplating. What had they done to you? What fresh horrors would you be battling once they returned your memories? Logan’s thumb slowly caressed your protruding ribs. He’d be there with you. Whatever you had to endure next, whatever fresh hell awaited you when you woke, he’d be right there next to you.

“We gotta go…” Scott muttered urgently to Ororo, who looked out beyond the ramp to the Blackbird, awaiting Kurt’s next arrival.

“We can’t… they’re still in there!” Morgana raised her head from where she’d been sat on one of the seats. “Atlas, Joseph, Naji and Rowan are still–” she was cut off by another puff of blue smoke, Kurt falling to the ground and releasing Rowan’s arm from around his shoulder. Blood leaked from the blonde’s nose, his hands braced against the steel as he caught his breath.

“Is she okay?” Were his first words, barely looking around before his golden eyes rested on your unconscious form and Logan’s protective hold. He could almost smell your brother’s disdain, his nostrils flaring as he slowly pieced together the narrative in front of him. “Logan, right?”

Logan nodded once, returning Rowan’s cold look with one of his own, baring his teeth ever so slightly as he tried to gauge the threat of you being taken from him again. Rowan visually backed off, his expression to exhaustion. “I guess a lot can happen when you don’t see someone for eight years. As long as you take care of her, that’s cool with me.” Rowan shrugged, having recognised just exactly what he was looking at.

As the Blackbird rose from the ground, Morgana clicked the belt across her middle and shakily made her way over to sit next to Rowan, eyes flickering between you and him.

“So… those dreams she had… they were actually memories?” She asked him slowly, and it took a moment for Logan to process all the subtext of the question before he nodded again. Even with your memories replaced, you could never truly forget him. The realisation made his chest swell and his heart ache. He was acutely aware of Rowan listening into the conversation. “Holy shit…” She breathed, tapping your arm lightly. “I hope you’re listening, you lucky bitch. He’s fucking gorgeous.”

So this was the Morgana from the reports. This was the girl he’d read about, not the one who aided in your capture two months ago. What the fuck had Kreva done to you all? How could he get Naji to manipulate you all in such a way? To the point where you’d all help him. Although it was a nice breath of fresh air for even a thread of humour to be woven into the cockpit. “Right, Erin? You’re with me on this, yeah?”

Morgana turned to the green-haired girl who’d curled up against the wall, her hands hugging her knees against her chest. “Erin…?” Morgana asked tentatively, and only then did Erin look up.

“We fucking left them.” She spat, her eyes rimmed red with unshed tears. “Atlas… Joes, Naji…. We just fucking left them. You got your precious Phantom back and just abandoned the rest of them.” Her hands flexed around her knees, chest tight.

“I’m sorry…” Kurt piped up from where he’d been nursing a small graze on his arm. “I couldn’t… It was carnage in there. I rescued who I could but–”

“Yeah well, it wasn’t fucking good enough. Who said we even needed rescuing anyway? This could all be total bullshit.” She hissed through gritted teeth, and Rowan placed a hand protectively on your shoulder. Logan knew he shouldn’t have bristled the way he did, the man had proven himself loyal, but he couldn’t help the memories of that night flashing to the forefront of his mind.

“Erin, we’re not abandoning them. We’re gonna go get them back, right?” Rowan looked to the rest of Logan’s team, who in turn looked at each other in uncertainty. They had you back. That’s what they came for. But something niggled at Logan’s mind. You wouldn’t stop there. If the tables had been turned and you were saving him, you wouldn’t stop until everyone was safe. He himself included, but that was given.

“No. We’re not abandoning them,” He spoke for his team, five heads snapping towards him, each with their own look of shock. “Ya know she’s just gonna go after them herself, right? And she wouldn’t stop til they’re all safe. And I dunno ‘bout you, but I ain’t letting her do that alone.” He finished, and Kitty smiled at him with tearful determination.

“Agreed.” She said, turning to the rest of the team. Ororo nodded and Scott sighed heavily, only swayed when Jean placed a hand on his arm.

“Alright then… guess that’s our next mission.” Scott sighed, irate.

“Thank you. They’re our friends so we really– Joes?” Morgana’s head tilted to the side as suddenly, seemingly out of thin air, Joseph blinked to existence, Rowan’s wrist held firmly in his grasp. Logan’s heart stopped. This wasn’t the same mutant they’d saved from testing during the mission. His eyes were glazed over, subdued hatred burning in his pupils as Rowan turned to his friend.

“Just Five.” He rasped, white foam leaking from his cracked lips.

“Joes? What’s–”

“ROWAN!” Logan roared, lunging across your form to take hold of your brother, only his fingers grazed nothing but thin air. Whatever Naji had done to Joes, it was the same thing he’d done to Morgana that night. And Rowan all too often.

But he was gone. Your brother was gone. And now there was no debate about what you’d do when you woke.

He just hoped, that whatever Charles restored, would be enough to get your brother back too. For your sake.

[syoish-aot]

"I Found You" - EREN/READER - REVERSE ISEKAI (part 4)

reverse isekai, time travel, memory loss

post canon (in a weird roundabout way)

reader/eren

word count: 1411

** note: I edited and moved around some stuff in part 2 and part 3 (that's just how it is when I'm posting rough drafts) so it might be worth going back to reread those parts. The important changes are: they're actually at the soft open of Niccolo's restaurant, Mikasa isn't there yet (because she's flying in from out of town), and I took out the Sasha/Mikasa engagement because I have another idea that works better for later. **

<- PART 3 | PART 5 ->

*****

“The fuck do you mean ‘awake’?” Eren asked after Armin and Jean had immediately pulled him into the bathroom, since it was the only place they’d have some semblance of privacy.

“Eren it’s- um…” Armin stuttered as he began to fiddle with his hands before he turned to Jean. “Y-You should-”

“Already did it.” Jean quickly said as he slid his phone into his back pocket.

Eren scowled. “Did wha-” 

Suddenly the door burst open. “I JUST GOT JEAN’S TEXT IS EREN REALLY-” Connie cut himself off as he stood in the doorway- eyes wide, face flushed, staring right at Eren. “...holy shit…” He mumbled.

Eren continued to scowl, still extremely confused.

“Move! Move! Move!!” Sasha pushed past him, causing Connie to stumble out of the way and fully into the bathroom. “I knew it would happen soon! I fucking knew it!! I have a sense for these sorts of things you know. It was the same thing when Jean woke up. I had been craving baked potatoes for weeks and then-”

“Sasha, calm down.” Armin cut her off. “We don’t want to overwhelm him, alright?”

“Overwhelm me with what!?” Eren exclaimed. “Seriously what the hell is-”

“What’s the last thing you remember, Eren?” Armin asked as he placed his hands on Eren’s shoulders and forced the other man to look at him.

Eren’s stomach sank as the memories flooded his vision. Smoke. The stomping of footsteps. Streaming from the people below him. A blade drawn lightning quick.

Falling.

And then nothing.

“I-...” Eren’s head fell as his hands trembled at his sides. “I remember- I remember everything.” His voice hitched. “Everything I did. Everything I forced all of you to do because of it- all those people I killed and-”

“Eren.”

Suddenly Armin’s arms were wrapped around him, pulling him tightly into a hug just like the hug he’d given him the last time they’d seen each other but also-

…also nothing like that at all.

“It’s alright now.” Armin told him softly. “None of that matters anymore.”

Eren scoffed. “How can it not matter?”

“Because none of that happened here.” Armin told him. “We don’t-... we don’t really get it either but for some reason after we all lived our lives back then, we came here.”

“But…” Eren practically whispered. “...where is here?”

“Here is where everyone is alive. Where we’re all together and we don’t have to worry about death or fighting or titans or anything like that. Here we can just-...” Armin pulled away from his friend and smiled at him, eyes glistening with tears. He looked so relieved as he finished his words: “... here is where everyone can live, Eren.”

“Everyone?” Eren asked.

“Yeah.” Armin told him. “Everyone.”

Eren’s eyes moved from Armin to Jean, Sasha, and Connie. Outside of the room there were more people too, more people he knew from his past life that had somehow ended up here. Everyone in the restaurant was someone he’d crossed at some point in his past; someone who, apparently, had memories of that past but understood it was different from where they were now.

Everyone except for one of them.

Except the person Eren didn’t know from his past, and for some reason had only met in the future.

He’d watched you get ready that morning. Smiling and joking around as you filled him in on the most random gossip of the friend group. A group of people that you were apparently a part of. The way you talked about everyone indicated that you knew them well, maybe even as well as he did.

Eren’s eyebrows tightened together in frustration as he thought of you. He had to know: “Then who’s-”

The bathroom door suddenly burst open.

“There you guys are!” You exclaimed. “Not to ruin your secret bathroom meeting or anything, but Niccolo wants to make a toast.”

Everyone’s eyes were locked on you, each one of them resembling a deer in headlights. You can’t help laughing at their expressions. “What?” You asked.

Armin took a quick breath.

Jean swallowed a lump in his throat.

Sasha coughed.

Eren tried to avoid your eyes, feeling unsettled by the idea of meeting your gaze. The way everyone else was acting indicated that you didn’t know anything about this. About them. About how, apparently, all of them had wound up here in some sort of second chance at life. 

They couldn’t raise suspicion.

So Connie bravely broke the silence: “It’s um- It’s Jean,” he stuttered. “He’s-... he’s constipated!”

Yeah.

Yeah that wasn’t suspicious at all.

***

“So… um, I guess that’s all I have to say.” Nicolo concluded his toast with an awkward laugh. “Thank you all for your support, even when that support-” he turned to Sasha, who was tucked under his arm and smiling up at her fiance as he addressed the room, “-sometimes means eating all of my imported truffles.”

“I told you that was an accident!” Sasha defended, playfully smacking him on the chest.

Niccolo laughed and kissed her forehead before everyone raised their glasses in a toast.

You grinned as your arm fell and you took a sip of your champagne. Your nose scrunched at the bitter taste. Wine had never been your thing.

You turned to Eren, who was standing next to you staring into his own glass. 

“Don’t tell me you’re already considering cutting yourself off.” You teased. “Last night you were raving about how you were going to drink Jean under the table again.”

“Yeah..” Eren mumbled. “I um… yeah.”

Your smile fell as you watched him. He looked so trapped in thought. Thoughts he would normally share with you, but right now you knew there was no way he’d do that. You’d spent all morning trying to get into his head and having him push you out.

Eren was right next to you.

But… he’d never felt so far away. 

“I don’t know what happened.” Eren told you, when you were nineteen and he disappeared for an entire night.

“What do you mean?” You asked.

Eren shrugged as he poured himself a glass of water and leaned against the kitchen counter. “I wanted to go for a walk, so I did and then- I dunno. Must have hit my head or something because I woke up back in bed.”

“Eren, you’re acting really casually about this. Maybe we should call your dad…”

You watched Eren’s body tense, just like it always did at the mention of Grisha Jaeger. 

Eren stared into his glass of water, getting lost in his own reflection. For a moment you didn’t recognize him. For a moment he was a stranger.

You didn’t know what else to say, so you said nothing.

Thankfully, after that he bounced back. After that he was Eren. Just Eren.

Until right now, almost six years later, he wasn’t “Just Eren” at all.

He was someone else. The same “someone” that had gotten lost in the woods all those years ago.

Your hand slowly moved from your side and your fingers brushed softly against his. Eren jumped, as if your touch was something intimidating as opposed to comforting.

You began to pull away from him, worried that you’d make things even worse if you continued to push.

But, just as your fingers parted from his, his hand quickly reached out to take yours.

“Don’t.” He told you softly, still staring into his untouched glass of champagne. “I-...”

Eren’s heart clenched as your hand curled against his, returning his hold and sending a wave of warmth up his entire arm. He still didn’t know who you were but he knew this. He knew you hand in his and the way it made his heart soar. 

“It’s okay, Eren.” You said softly as you gave his hand a soft squeeze. “I’m not going anywhere.”

For some reason, those words made everything seem okay.

***

Mikasa pulled herself into the taxi with a short sigh. Her flight hadn’t been long, but flying had always made her uncomfortable. Thankfully it was over, and soon she’d be celebrating with her friends.

A small smile tugged at her lips at the thought of seeing everyone again. She stared out the window, watching  the city pass by in a blur.

Her phone buzzed and she looked down to see a group chat notification.

Expecting it to be Sasha, likely asking how much longer she was going to take to get there, her eyes widened when she read two simple words:

[pluckyredhead]

I have fallen down a Fourth World rabbit hole (this is @ngoziu's fault) and am now reading everything DC has ever published with these characters, in order, as is my wont, and I have a lot of thoughts and feelings, so I'm going to start dumping them all here. Sorry.

Background if you have no idea what I'm talking about but want to read this post anyway (why?): in 1971, Jack Kirby left Marvel because he couldn't put up with Stan Lee any longer and came to DC, where they were like "Yes you can do anything you want" (this was a lie). He immediately began writing, drawing, and editing an incredibly ambitious epic that stretched over four simultaneously published books: Superman's Pal Jimmy Olsen (we can mostly ignore this one), New Gods, Mister Miracle, and The Forever People. These books came to be known as Jack Kirby's Fourth World Tetralogy.

The books all center around the war between the utopian planet New Genesis, ruled by the benevolent Highfather, and the dystopian planet Apokalips, ruled by the evil Darkseid. At the heart of the narrative is "The Pact," aka The Cosmic Baby Swap. To ensure a (temporary) truce, Highfather and Darkseid traded sons when said children were very young - so Orion, Darkseid's son, is raised on New Genesis, and Scott Free, Highfather's son, is raised on Apokalips. Neither knows who their real father is until adulthood.

Orion grows up in a utopia, but tormented by his feelings of rage and otherness that he can't explain. Scott is raised in a torture orphanage, because that's just what happens on Apokalips, but eventually he escapes to Earth and becomes the escape artist Mister Miracle. The Cosmic Baby Swap begs what to me is the central question of the Fourth World, which is: what is the nature of good? Which boy will be a hero? The one born to good and raised by evil, or the one born to evil and raised by good?

TRICK QUESTION THEY'RE BOTH HEROES!!! GOOD IS MORE POWERFUL THAN EVIL! LOVE WINS AND FASCISM LOSES! This is so, so important to me and any version of these characters that doesn't understand the really not very complex symbolism here is invalid and kind of embarrassing for the writer (looking at you, Tom King).

Also Scott falls in love with and eventually marries Big Barda, one of Darkseid's fiercest warriors, who was born on Apokalips and raised on Apokalips and chooses good anyway. LOVE WINS AGAIN! BARDA TOPS HER TINY HUSBAND IN THE NAME OF PEACE AND COMPASSION!

Sadly DC canceled New Gods and Forever People after only 11 issues, which kind of killed Kirby's whole vision. Mister Miracle limped along until #18, but as a really pale shadow of itself. So we never really got the full scope of Kirby's original plans.

ANYWAY. That's the background. Now thoughts on the actual comics:

Superman's Pal, Jimmy Olsen: I love Jimmy, I love Superman, I love the Newsboy Legion, but this book feels very tangential to the whole Fourth World experiment and I think we can safely set it to the side. However, if you love the 90s Superboy series, I recommend dipping into this because it's the source material for a lot of Kon's worldbuilding (Cadmus, Dubbilex, clone Guardian, etc.).

The Forever People (1971): So I originally read all the Jack Kirby Fourth World stuff like...at least 15 years ago, when I was still relatively new to comics, and I'll be honest: I didn't get it. Kirby is sort of an acquired taste, and I didn't really have any context for what he was doing. I understood the metaphors, but I didn't get why people found the work appealing. And Forever People in particular was the book where I was like "Why. What is the point of this" the most.

Rereading it many years later, I find it to be a lot more moving and profound - like, the Happyland issue alone is a knockout. That said, Kirby is, uhhhh...not great at ensemble characterization without Lee, and the Forever People themselves are unforgivably bland. Default Guy! Big Guy! Black Guy! Girl! Kid! Props to Kirby for making it a not all-white group - and for introducing five out of seven of DC's first Black characters in the space of, like, two years - but it would have been nice if he gave them personalities, too.

New Gods (1971): This is Orion's book and the heart of the Fourth World. At its best, it's the pinnacle of "Makes no sense...compels me, though." Like, "Glory Boat?" I don't understand a single thing that happened in that comic but it's so fucking good. I just want to read thousands of words of comics scholars over the past 50 years going "????" in collective confused admiration.

Mister Miracle (1971): This was the book I was most invested in when I read the Fourth World years ago, because I already loved Scott and Barda from JLI, but now I think it's weaker than New Gods and arguably even than Forever People. Kirby doesn't seem as invested in going all in on Big Concepts here, and Scott escaping endless weird deathtraps is only compelling for so long. The later issues, after the other books were canceled and DC made Kirby pivot away from the Apokalips/New Genesis war, are nothing. But Scott and Barda (and Oberon and Shilo) are everything, so I guess it balances out. Anyway Scott clearly already knows a lot about Earth by the time he meets Oberon and Thaddeus Brown, so DC please feel free to hire me to write a Mister Miracle: Year One miniseries about Scott's arrival on Earth, thank you.

Okay, now for the post-Kirby (or really, intra-Kirby) stuff:

Mister Miracle (1977): This picks up the numbering from the Kirby series, running from #19-25, and was written by Steve Englehart and then Steve Gerber, and it sucks so bad. For three reasons, in escalating importance:

Riddled with continuity holes and factual errors that don't match what Kirby established. Himon is shown on New Genesis - how did he get there? Metron is depicted as subservient to Highfather when Kirby showed him as a neutral, independent agent. Etc.

The treatment of non-Scott characters is largely terrible. Oberon is written really condescendingly (Scott's like "Ride on my shoulders like you used to!" even though they definitely did not ever do that before, because Oberon is not a child). When Scott feels guilty that he's not actively fighting the war, Highfather's like "I don't want you to fight because I feel bad that I traded you to Darkseid, let Orion do it" as if that isn't the root of Orion's severe emotional trauma TOO. And worst of all is Barda, who is knocked out and captured in the first issue and spends pretty much the entire rest of the series unconscious, waiting for Scott to rescue her - except for the brief scene where she wakes up brainwashed, requiring Scott to beat the shit out of her. Lovely.

The series is reeeally fixated on the notion that Scott is a god, and extrapolates that to Scott deciding he's the messiah. Now, I'm not going to say that the Fourth World can't be used to explore Christian themes just because Kirby is Jewish, because Kirby was very definitely exploring biblical themes extensively and frankly I don't know enough about the Bible to say whether he was sticking religiously (ha) to the Old Testament. But I do think taking one of the central characters of a Jewish man's magnum opus and making him the messiah is, uh, pushing it. And there's no way to argue he's not a Christian messiah because, uh, he T-poses a lot in this series and Granny also specifically states that if Scott is the messiah, she'll find an anti-Christ to combat him (which...wouldn't that sort of by default be Orion? which just further proves that the idea of a messiah really doesn't work in the Fourth World framework). Anyway it's gross and I hate it.

New Gods (1977): I'm kind of using this as a catchall to cover all of Gerry Conway's New Gods work, which includes the actual 1977 New Gods series (which picks up the numbering from Kirby, so it's #12-19), the conclusion of the story in Adventure Comics, and the Justice League of America crossover with the Fourth World. (Also there's one issue of Super-Team Family where Lightray and Metron team up with the Flash to save Orion, who has grown really really big, but that doesn't fit with the rest of Conway's continuity so I guess we can ignore it.)

Anyway this stuff is not as infuriating as Mister Miracle, but it's also not...good. The central concept is that Darkseid has discovered that the Anti-Life Equation is contained within the brains of six humans, so Highfather sends six New Gods to protect said humans: Orion, Lightray, Metron (he doesn't work for you, Highfather), Forager (also does not work for you), Lonar, and Sensational Character Find of 1977, Jezebelle of the Fiery Eyes (Original Character Do Not Steal).

Mostly this series is frustrating because all the New Gods are wildly incompetent and fail completely at their tasks. Orion is dumbed down to The World's Most Basic Superhero (he has a big O on his chest now!). I spent the whole time yelling "HE CAN'T FLY, GERRY!" at the comics. Forager is lumped in with no mention of that whole thing where...he's a New God who was raised among the Bugs, who are being persecuted by the New Gods? I feel like that should be explained or at least addressed? (Presumably Kirby would have gotten around to it eventually.) Forager also should not be flying but here he does. I guess. Lonar flies too but mostly on his horse, which bothers me less for some reason, I'll accept a flying horse. (Also Lonar's human he's supposed to protect is Inuit and hoo boy is this comic racist. The poor guy wears a fur diaper the whole time and speaks a completely made up language.)

And then there's Jezebelle of the Fiery Eyes. Who is blue, for reasons that are never explained, and wears a bikini and fishnets because it's 1977, and mentions her fiery eyes (heat vision) every time she speaks. She's from Apokalips, but defected to New Genesis during battle. Which, like...I appreciate that Conway recognized that this team should have a female character, but what with Orion, Scott, Barda, and Inexplicably Present Himon, it feels like we have enough characters who have defected from Apokalips in some way? And it's just super weird that the ONLY female characters we have seen from New Genesis are Beautiful Dreamer of the Forever People (trapped in another dimension indefinitely) and Scott's dead mom. Like, what's the implication here? Heaven doesn't have women? Also, I know Conway was going for biblical names to match New Genesis and Izaya (he also introduces a Lucifar), but, like...Jezebelle? JEZEBELLE. Your only female New God and you named her "whore." Amazing.

And with that, we have covered the New Gods in the 70s (minus some Mister Miracle/Batman teamups). Next time: the 80s, and Kirby tries so so hard to kill Orion but DC won't let him.

[randomfoggytiger]

Do you have a list of comfort fics? Not them comforting each other but for when you're feeling wrecked and you just need something lovely to make it better?

randomfoggytiger's Comfort Fics

I'm not joking: I've reread more fics than I'll ever read new ones. My usual routine is to pop open Google docs, select an author, and mow down their list.

These three pieces were the ones that started it all; but I forgot to include @seek-its-opposite's photosensitivity. A+s, all of 'em.

Authors that I can't single out comfort fics from and can't tag because Tumblr is restricting my tag options: @baronessblixen, @settle-down-frohike, @onpaperfirst, @markwatneyandenesemble, Lapsed_Scholar, Apostrophic, @ghostbustermelanieking, @o6666666, touchstoneaf, @welsharcher, @scenes-in-between, @mldrgrl, @spooky-nerd, @melforbes, etc.

**Note**: Will ghost edit later~

PART I

Bittersweet Comfort Fics

misslucyjane's Scully seeks insomnia advice from Mulder, and Mulder dies, then lovingly watches Scully live the rest of her life

Kipler's cancer arc set casefile involving WWII vets and letters

melforbes's cancer arc Mulder takes his new bride to the sea for her last spring, and Pre-IWTB Mulder and Scully finally have a home

MldrItsMe's AU Redux II Scully is REALLY suffering, and Sein und Zeit Mulder's suicidal confessions

@discordantwords's Mulder and Scully are almost killed by the Fiji mermaid

mixiz877's Mulder and Scully fight off a gryphon

@fbismostunwanted1158's Scully is beaten down ala Stella Gibson in The Fall

Joyce's S5 AU Mulder is killed, comes back to life to save Scully, and Mulder dies but stays as Scully's partner solving cases with her (Part 1, Part 2, and-- my favorite of the three-- its Halloween sequel)

@teethnbone's post Travelers fic with Mulder and Scully

@sarie-fairy's AU Tithonus love confession, Post Milagro Scully realizing what it feels like to be Mulder, and Post The Unnatural Scully is bleeding out on a failed Sasquatch hunt

@sigritandtheelves's Post Monday Scully remembers Mulder's death

whatliesabove's Post Milagro Scully stays dead (or does she?)

ChaneenW's Pre-IVF arc Mulder is shot into a parallel timeline, reliving the Small Potatoes adventure with Scully

dee_ayy's post Amor Fati recovery fic (with baseball)

@bohoartist's Sein und Zeit through Scully's eyes, and Post Closure Scully rescues a photo of baby Mulder

Lolabeegood's AU where S8 Mulder is returned with false memories (would also recommend Lolabee's IWTB era fics, btw.)

@dreamingofscully's AU S9 Skinner entices Mulder back into profiling... and it doesn't end well

@television-overload's Pre-IWTB Mulder surprises Scully with a baseball field (and his old self again)

@queeenpersephone's AU where IWTB Scully stuck it out with Mulder

@danascullysjournal's Post IWTB bonding fic between a discouraged Mulder and uplifting Scully

@kateyes224's Mulder and Scully content in their UH, and Mulder sells the UH, and Scully buys it

@realmofextremepossibility's Breakup Mulder waiting for Scully's return Part I and Part II.

vulcanscully's Post Breakup Scully stops hearing from Mulder and assumes the worst

enigmaticdr's AU post IWTB Scully thinks she has cancer again (she's pregnant), Breakup Mulder is defeated at their anniversary dinner, AU where Revival Scully gets cancer, and The Revival baby laughs for the first time

prufrockslove's AU Mulder is a Welsh prince, Scully is his betrothed bride, and lots of Prince John high court drama ensues (part I of a sweeping, interconnecting AU series)

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[lej222]

Hlw! Would love to see your analysis on if jisu likes miae romantically or not. Hope u'll do that sometimes😊don't feel pressured tho it’s just my wish❤️

Sorry for the late reply, but here is a long post about my thoughts about Jisu's character arc, including spoilers from episode 147 (these are just my ramblings, my word is not gospel :D)

Does Jisu like Miae romantically?

Now, this is a hard question to answer. And I will try my best to break down what we know about him so far.

We only have two fragments of the time when Jisu and Miae were classmates. The first one is when Miae called out Jisu's bullies and she asked him the same question Jisu repeated years later to her (important!) about scolding the bullies. The other memory was Jisu's transfer to another elementary school. He was forced to write a letter and mentions how he liked Miae the most and the whole class, including Miae, cry their heart out. Jisu remembers how hard Miae sobbed and Miae can also recall someone telling her they liked her, but doesn't remember the boy's face or name.

Years later after moving around, Jisu ends up in the same school with her again in the spring semester in 1998. He is surprised, even more so when they become classmates in the following year, but doesn't care enough to interact with Miae. Coincidences keep happening - her pencil landing at his chair, they get sent out to the corridor, they become folk dance partners, he finds her name tag and uses it to avoid punishment, they get detention the same time. And Jisu still doesn't care about the whole situation, not until their actual detention week starts when he initiates conversation for the first time. This is when Jisu concludes their random encounters are fun and Miae is an interesting person. (Edit:: I'm rereading the story, and actually the turning point of their relationship is when Miae tries to save him from the teacher when they ruined the plant. It's possible Jisu doesn't let anyone close to himself and was intentionally petty towards Miae in the beginning until she decided to help him. We see that Jisu is greatly speechless in that scene and decides to flip over the plant. My best guess is that he might have realized Miae is still the same person as she was back then and she's still brave so Jisu becomes active for the first time for her and takes the blame. It is probably also the moment he concludes being around Miae is fun)

Based on these alone, I'm inclined to believe that even if Jisu loves her romantically at this point of the story, he's not aware of it. For him, being around Miae is exciting because she is fun. She doesn't remember him at all, but she's still the same person as she was years ago in elementary school so Jisu feels comfortable around her which didn't go unnoticed by their homeroom teacher or Jisu's mother. Miae probably doesn't understand why people keep emphasizing his unique personality and connect the dots, but we readers can easily assume Jisu was bullied because of his difference. And it is something he shares with Miae so he might feel like she understands him, or rather, she doesn't treat him differently because of it. It's a situation that can easily bloom into love with time, even if he's not there yet.

But why is Jisu is important in this story?

One thing I always see people complaining about is Jisu's plot relevance. However, it is a much more complex narrative choice than just a simple love triangle.

I have said this before, but memories and fate are intertwined in this story. There are just too many clues that support this. Miae doesn't remember Cheol at the beginning of the story, she even has trouble recalling his name. As the plot progresses and we see more of her memories, fate keeps throwing them together and they develop a friendship that turns into romantic love. In fact, it's a recurring point in the story that Miae keeps forgetting important things. Her dreams, things she must do, Jisu's entire presence in the past.

Which takes me to my next point, the unidentified higher power in the story. It's been always present, at first only giving small signs of its existence in the form of phone calls or changing the weather. Let's remember that lots of times Miae and Cheol had a moment it started raining (Miae's dream about Cheol, when he helped changing the light bulb, when they wanted to take a photo together). However, the unknown presence's voice gets more and more active as thes tory goes on. Not only it starts interacting with Miae in her dreams, she can also hear it in certain situations and wonders where it came from. In fact, when she is talking to Cheol's shoe in one of the very first chapters, she has a weird feeling for a second and we get a close up on the shoe. This supernatural (?) power has always been involved with Miae, but it starts to be more aggressive.

Not only it tells Miae that she's too late and it tried to warn her, in the newest chapter it floods every scene with car ads that are about changing one's car. So the mysterious entity clearly tries to intervene, giving chance encounters to Miae and Jisu while preventing Miae and Cheol's relationship (like how they cannot have a photo together).

Okay, so what does it mean?

It is something I obviously cannot answer as I'm not the writer.

BUT let's not forget that someone like Jisu in this story, who was shown to have exceptional cognitive skills (like knowing every person's name whom he's ever met, being first in the school and likely is on the spectrum), also has excellent memory. And what did I say about memories and fate? That they are seemingly intertwined! Jisu is writing his own fate, he appeared later in the story because he chose to not get involved until that point! He is the character who is aware of everything in the past and present. While Miae has trouble with her memories, and what do we see? Fate aggressively trying to steer her.

At the end of the day, we have two routes that are possible:

Miae is fated to be with Jisu, fate/the stone deity/the universe knows it and tries to warn Miae her time with Cheol is short so she shouldn't have any regrets. In this case, the story is about how Cheol and Miae helped each other in a certain period of their lives, but had different fates set in stone.

Miae was fated to be with Jisu, and the higher power knows it, but Miae will change her own fate to be with Cheol instead. In this case, in the remaining chapters we will see her fighting against her own destiny and win in the end.

At this point, I feel like I have to mention I've studied philosophy for quite a few years, and I highly doubt we can get a satisfactory explanation of any of these possibilities. But rather, it will be a simple:

even though we were not fated together, I cherished our time together

or love overcomes destiny itself

Other interesting idea

This is just for fun, but the comic Miae reads is a clear symbol of her relationship with Cheol. They have almost every cliche in the book (with sometimes a little twist) like troubled boy meeting childhood friend, becoming neighbours with their windows facing each other, accidentally seeing the other's body, falling on each other first kiss, etc. This is your typical 90s shoujo manga which makes sense because the story takes place in the 90s.

On the other hand, we have the chaotic meetings of Jisu and Miae who bond over trash, don't get the accidental kiss trope, etc. And whether it's meant to illustrate that they will only remain friends or it's meant to be a contrast to Miae and Cheol's comic book romance, I don't know. Depends on the ending the author wants to convey. I would be fine with either possibilities as long as Jisu won't be used as a plot device.

Plus, Miae&Jisu and Cheol&Miae parallel each other a lot. Just coming from the latest chapters, Miae has interacted with Jisu's mom, but not really Cheol's parents. Cheol has interacted with Miae's parents. Miae is bothered by Jisu. Cheol was bothered by her. Cheol saying the same thing Miae said to Jisu. These are all definitely intentional.

As usual, please don't take my words seriously, this is just all for fun.

Edit: there's one other interesting thing to consider:

Jisu is aware of the coincidences and thinks they are fun. He's been saying this for a while. Which means if there's indeed a higher power in the story, Jisu is accepting of fate.

Miae, on the other hand, willfully rejects her own fate. Let's say Miae and Cheol's meeting was bound to happen - it was also their destiny. She acknowledged those coincidences and even wondered how strange they were. So the higher power was content. But what if, according to their fate, their time together is indeed short? Because Miae rejects her coincidental meetings with Jisu, saying how she hopes she won't meet him again, only for the higher power to be more aggressive and take on an active voice. In the last chapter, she even kicked the flyer away about changing one's car, only for her to end up with a bubble gum in her hair so she was forced to get a haircut from Jisu's mother. Jisu's question last chapter is more than just him asking to play together - it's a chance for Miae to go into the direction the higher power wants her to be.

The real questions:

Is fate something one can overcome? Are certain things bound to happen and we can only decide how to deal with them emotionally? Is the narrator/higher power omnipotent and omniscient? Because if it is, can Miae still decide what's the best for her? These are the truly complicated questions that we cannot answer because there are no answers. So I'm excited to see what Soonkki will come up as the resolution.

[creatingnikki]

at seventeen, I don't think I ever thought about the future in a way that then seemed so distant, a future that in my vision did not exist — ten years later, me at twenty seven.

had I thought about it then, I don't have much clue now as to what I would have pictured. but would it be this:

three days after turning twenty seven listening to the scientist by Coldplay, fetching out my hardbound gold and black edition of looking for alaska by john green on a Saturday evening. wearing a bottle green cropped hoodie, hair in a messy bun, clutching the book to my chest, crying as random snippets of being in high school having such an innocent and unsullied idea of the world and the people in it flash in my head.

grieving. isn't that what this is? life is a labyrinth of suffering — I had read it back at 17 and I didn't realize this in its true essence. so I guess this is me grieving my loss of innocence.

but it's not all so sad and tragic. the answer to how do we ever get out of this labyrinth of suffering is not one I yet have but I'm finding moments that have begun to answer it nonetheless.

friday game nights with new friends, post dinner walks where we talk about the films we love and the books that found a place in our hearts and stayed. why else do I come back home on Saturday and go through my book collection to pick this particular book that I haven't touched in a decade?

I used to always get mad at people when they hated on the sitcom how I met your mother's ending because they missed the point — it was never quite about the mother but who Ted had to become in order to meet her. and just in that fashion have I not missed the point of all the books and TV shows and movies I've ever loved:

the point of love and friendship is not to protect you like some guardian angel though often it can have that effect. nor is the point to fulfil you though they are integral in contentment and satisfaction overall. the point of friends and lovers is not to preserve your sanity when it is racing to its death like a burning cigarette though it can many times help.

I do not know what the point is, if I'm being honest. but I know that the point of this life of mine is to be a friend and lover to myself. how? maybe I need to reread my favourite books again to come closer to that answer. maybe I need to face the truth more bravely. at twenty seven, I'm sure I've mustered that much courage, perspective, and compassion for myself.

as I light my favourite candles and end my birthday week, I know this — the seventeen year old me did well, the twenty seven year old me will do better, and the thirty seven year old me will do even more fantastically.

[openphrase123]

What's your workflow for planning and then executing a long-term project, like the massive fics you write?

this is how i do fanfics And also original stuff and it's how i've been writing for like ten years (your mileage may vary though i think long project planning is a different kind of beast depending on the person.

also this is the same process as i have for making other media too but obviously with the language tweaked to fit the media (like this is how i plan and execute my game, too!)

have a scene or concept haunt me so thoroughly that i write a short speculative piece about it. if you get here and it's good but can't get past the next step, that's a sign it's meant to be a cool oneshot instead of something multichaptered

decide why i'm making it. what question am i trying to answer, what themes am i trying to explore?

write 2-3 chapters of it freeform style, not caring about where these scenes are going or how they flow into each other (for things that aren't fics, this can just be like. a small section of what it Is). if you're not feeling it here this is a sign to make the scope smaller and make the piece as short as you can tolerate it for. if you are feeling it, this is where you're figuring out the overall tone and style of how the wider work is going to go

figure out the ending. write the ending scene now if you have to. you can change it later but you need to know generally where you want to go

make an outline. how many sections do i need to get from the opening scene to the ending scene? what happens in each chapter?

for ME and how i post, if this is a fanfiction, write at least 25% of it before posting a single thing. or if nothing else write 3 weeks of updates.

start posting

vibe and write at least 3 weeks in advance. if you need a break you need a break. it's free fanfiction, people get it.

now, some creators will be like "whatever you write, take out 10% of it to be economical" this is the modern writer's equivalent of the devil talking. you need the fluff. you need the downtime. you need the epilogue. slow your fucking stories down. let people marinate in them. yeah if you're writing something short form or in a specific format you might need to take stuff out but if you're writing fanfiction or a novel or a game and there's no limit on how long it is. don't worry about spending a couple pages dicking around. every piece of human media from the dawn of time has had interludes, B plots, long meandering pieces of fluff... it makes the parts where the story Hits really stand out. inutile's tragic moments wouldn't be as effective if there weren't fun jokes or levity interspersed in between

that said you need to know when to stop adding shit. only put things in that you think you have a reasonable time to address fully and completely. you will learn this the hard way one day and i cannot teach this or stop you from making this mistake. i learned this mistake writing homestuck fanfiction when i was 13. but in my defense it's really easy to go overboard with homestuck fanfiction

panic because i'm like 90% of the way through and tired of it and start doubting whether the story was ever good at all and if this was wasted time

finish it. celebrate. wait like two months

reread my own work and say "this is sick as hell"

(if this is original work, this is where you start editing it. this is a different beast. i will not elaborate here. fanfiction is for fun and is at the same level as my original fiction drafts. on a rewrite everything will be more polished and purposeful)

repeat forever and ever as long as there are stories to tell

also. this one is just me because it's how my brain works. but ideally i work on two/three longform projects at once, so that when i get tired of working on one my brain will go "ooh shiny" and latch onto one of the other ones effortlessly. if you have adhd this will either work for you perfectly or it will ruin your life

[shark-myths]

hi!!!! ive probably sent an ask like this before but how do you keep up the motivation to finish a longer fic? whenever i start writing a fic i know will be long i end up abandoning it or getting bored or not knowing how to continue / end it. the few multichaptered fics ive posted are incomplete and i dont know when they’ll be finished. i have a couple of longer fics in drafts but it just feels like such a challenge to finish them. how do you do it?

ooh i love this question! i am proud of being a finisher--in all my years of writing fic (it's been... many), i have only ever once started posting something i didn't finish. i generally wait until i'm really confident i can finish a fic before i begin posting it. sometimes, as you may have experience in real time with Rosewood Lane, there is a looooong time between updates... but i usually like to keep an update schedule. giving myself deadlines works really well to motivate me and keep myself organized! i also tend to be a daily writer, i'm happiest when i have a little time to sit down every morning and work on a project, whether that's rereading, editing, or writing deeper into the story. i actually am usually trying to make my fics shorter than they end up, but i feel like most stories have their shape already and know how long they need to be to do what i want them to, and i'm merely hanging on. i would love to get better at writing short pieces. having cheerleaders and readers helps too! i find it so exciting to share updates with everyone.

when a story gets boring--and this does happen to me--i try to jump around and write any shred of it i can find that feels interesting, or i go back to the last part that felt interesting and either change or entirely scrap what comes after it that went flat for me. i also avoid any type of real outlining or plotting (sometimes this is pretty obvious in my finished product, oops) because once i know everything that's going to happen, the why and how and where of a story's arc, i lose interest in writing it. i'm in it for the surprise and whatever's coming around the bend! if i have it all planned out, there feels to be very little point in actually writing it--instead it starts to feel like a dreaded task to me. work, not writing.

i also sometimes leave stories alone for a long time. i did this with Footnote, and i did it with Dirty Enough to Love, and i did it with my 1950s au when it was too much GENDER and REALITY for me to deal with. these don't see the light of day while they're on the back burner; the pressure to post can turn right into avoidance and dislike of a project for me, which is why i am so slow to start posting a story even when a significant portion is already written.

so i guess, writing tips from a shark, tl;dr version:

give yourself a schedule for writing and posting that feels organized and manageable

don't rush to start posting, this can turn an unfinished story into a task you want to avoid

find someone you can share your excitement with, whether they're in the fandom or not, and talk about your ideas and intentions with them

trust the length a story wants to be

also, trust yourself about the length of story you interested in writing

if it's boring, try telling it differently. jump ahead, jump back, delete the scene that got you stuck, change something, drop part of the narrative, skip some time or detail

don't be afraid to abandon something and come back to it months or years later

create more mystery and unknowns in the story to keep yourself interested. hide things from yourself! throw wrenches in your best-laid plans! let your characters completely sabotage you! obscure the path ahead so you are interested by the task of finding it again.

whatever you do, just keep writing. you will have a lifelong relationship to the craft and it will change over time, like our bodies, like the seasons. be where the joy is right now and don't get too worried about where you want to be later.

thank you for the thoughtful question! happy writing 💜

[crystalyssa35]

A General Guide to Writing Well, Now, & Consistently

In all my years writing, I have struggled with keeping writing as a fun and healthy habit. It took me five years (and many instances of writer's block and giving up) to actually have a basic set of guidelines to keep my writing going...

And I would like to share these "rules" with you all today!

Now, a bit of a disclaimer: developing the quality of your writing skills comes with time, research, and thinking. It may sound frustrating to hear, and you may hear it often, but the only way to get better at writing is to write and read often. Many times, just by jotting a silly thought down or reading fanfiction, you can spawn ideas without realizing it.

Now, to the list of tips that (I hope) will help you on your writing endeavors!

If you are not having fun writing your story, your readers will not have fun reading it. It sounds silly, but it's true! If you're enjoying your writing, you're more likely to write more and input more ideas into it!

Even if you have people to check your works, reread them on your own anyway. This may be a little frustrating tip for some, but let me tell you: I used to HATE checking my own stuff. The worst way I learned that personally checking it is a necessity was when my aunt checked it and pointed out tens of mistakes within my grammar, storyline, and characters. Check yo work, it will save you a LOT of embarrassment in the future.

Write anything. Read everything. As ambiguous and obscure as it will sound, it makes sense with context. As I mentioned before, the only way to get better at writing is to write and read often. Write anything your mind desires, that's simple enough. But read EVERYTHING; not only books, blogs, and articles, but also games, texts with friends, billboards, pictures with text, and (sorry, students) even homework as well. You'll be surprised how much your vocabulary expands when you actually pay attention to anything that is written (for me, it was video games. Seven-year old me knew vocabulary that I was taught in seventh grade because of it). And on that note...

Research what you don't know. Please, this one is genuinely important (I'm biased because it's one of my pet peeves). This includes words you don't know the definition of, spelling, and even generic, real-life information you want to add into your stories (e.g. I actually spent four hours researching how gemstones are categorized for my sci-fi story: Eco-Adstrum). Unfortunately, sometimes researching and fact-checking your ideas before writing them down can prove to be unmotivating, especially when you're wrong. But, it's always good to stay optimistic and be creative enough to twist the actual fact to mold it to your stories. Unless you're writing non-fiction, then maybe don't do that last bit.

If you have no ideas, keep wiggling your pencil. To those that recognize that phrase, yes, it is not my own. This is a piece of writing from former Tumblr user "officialtheonite" (I was only able to find the post because it has been reblogged multiple times) and their fifth grade writing teacher. Essentially, even if you have no ideas, keep writing. Write ANYTHING, even if it doesn't make sense. You will always be able to double-check it later and you will save yourself a lot of wasted time sitting around trying to stir the soup in your brain.

Balance the usage of your names and pronouns. To this day, I still struggle with this. I tend to use an abundance of pronouns when I'm referring to a character, so much so that sometimes, it becomes unclear on if we are still talking about aforementioned character or if we're talking about a different character entirely. Use names when the focus or action of a character is on stage; use pronouns if we are still talking about said character (even if we are talking about the same character, make sure you at least reiterate their name when there's a new paragraph).

I'll be editing and reworking this list as time goes on. I hope these tips can be of use so some of you all. Feel free to ask me any questions if needed. Enjoy writing and keep at it! I believe in you all!

[fruitybashir]

hey hello 👋🏻 i'm sorry im very shy but i'm a huge fan of the holidate and dopamin (closer) was so fantastic and super hot and i was blushing the entire way through, i've reread it maybe five times by now, i'm sorry if that's weird 🫣

if you don't mind me asking, i'm curious about something? in the holidate and in dopamin, there's obvious hints at some of their kinks or preferences in bed (hair pulling, praise....) and i'm just wondering......can you say more about what kinks they're both into? what you envisioned for them? is there more we don't know about yet? i'm a bit embarassed to ask but i'm so curious

either way, i'm a big fan and i can't wait to see what you post next and have a nice day/night bye bye 💌💕

omg hiiiii <3333 dont be embarassed omg i loveeee when people tell me they reread my stuff, thats how i know it actually was good!!! 🫶🏻💖💖💖

and sure i can talk about it! its nothing super exciting tbh but i do have a certain set of kinks/preferences/likes whatever you wanna call it for each of them, im gonna put it under the cut as per usual in case it gets long.

edit yeah this is getting super long. sorry. dont ask me to yap, i will not stop.

starting with kris:

the very obvious: hair pulling. i think that was made pretty clear lmao. in a non-sexual context he looooves having his hair played with, someone just running their fingers through his hair, lightly scratching at the scalp, playing with a strand or two, anything at all gives him very pleasant tingles and practically makes him putty in your hands. find that spot behind his ear like bojan did and his brain shuts off, you have now successfully tamed your kris, congrats.

in a sexual context that translates to him loving having his hair pulled, its a combination of him liking having his hair played with + liking a certain level of pain. and the combo of that really gets him off. obviously.

pain for kris is like. hes into some level of pain, like the hair pulling and he also likes biting sometimes. in dopamin thats bojan biting his butt, but i imagine sometimes when bojan takes his time exploring kris' body, he takes a bite here or there, kris' neck, the sides of his stomach, the inside of his thighs .. stuff like that and kris is also really into it then.

hes not into any bigger levels of pain other than that like he wouldnt like stuff like spanking etc although thats a combination of not liking that type of pain and not liking being in a submissive position

next point: he doesnt like being submissive. its both just a preference thing plus not liking loss of control. he loves being the one to order the other part around and be the one to kiiind of have the upper hand. im saying that a bit vaguely bc he also isnt really a dom, he wouldnt like a very strong dominant role, he just likes calling the shots and being in control of the situation. idk how to put it. ill come back to this later

hes freshly discovering that hes into feminization, as you can probably tell from that last upload lmao, and he likes it both in a non-sexual and in a sexual context. he likes feminine words of affection, being called pretty, likes thinking about how in certain perspectives and moments people might mistake him for a girl, and he could have shopped online for lingerie thats specifically made for men, and buy panties that actually had some space in the front, but he deliberately chose not to do that, he wanted it to be girls underwear. that was important.

holidate kris is definitely not fully cis, but also not really trans either i think, idk what to call it but yeah. he might be a little trans, hes having some thoughts and feelings and maybe ill let him explore that properly one day but basically he doesnt really know what to make of it yet or how to categorise it, but he knows he likes himself exactly the way he is and doesnt want to change anything. he also likes getting called girl-ish things and thinking about how people might mistake him for a girl sometimes. idk

other preferences uhhh he really likes sucking dick lmao, like he genuinely enjoys going down on bojan and it gets him all worked up as well. he just figured out he loves getting eaten out. he doesnt like bottoming and he also doesnt like getting fingered all that much. and the thing with that is that he likes having things in his ass, but he doesnt like the uhhh motion of it? having a dick in his ass is fine, having that dick thrust into him is a big no no. the lucky thing with bojan is that he has really short fingers so when hes fingering kris, hes focussing on kris's prostate and doesnt move around all that much so that is still something kris enjoys. on occasion. he also generally doesnt like coming more than once, bc he tends to be very sensitive after his first orgasm and the second one is often very overhelming and too much

moving on to bojan:

also fairly obvious: likes being manhandled, likes being told what to do, big on getting praised. he also loves servicing and making kris feel good, it genuinely gets him off when he can just worship kris a little.

bojan loves both receiving and giving oral but he really loves bottoming and coming on kris' fingers. he loves getting a little overstimulated like getting teased for a long time before getting any proper attention so by the time kris finally goes down on him or fucks him, bojan is already shaking with it and desperate. or in the way like in dopamin, literally not being able to fully calm down in between orgasms and still being super sensitive from the first one.

i think the praise thing is pretty self explanatory, he really loves getting praised for doing a good job when he follows kris' instructions, loves being called a good boy, loves when kris keeps telling him how good hes being in general, its a major thing for him

he loves getting fucked classic missionary or riding kris, they tried doggy once but he didnt like not being able to see kris and touch him. he loves watching kris' face when he comes and also before that, he just loves fucking face to face.

also he would love for kris to make real on his promise of fucking his tits, neither of them knows how that would work but bojan is heavily into the idea of it

as for both of them:

ive said it in dms earlier but basically like. theyre both still kind of vanilla with their kinks? like there is a dom/sub dynamic there but its a very mild one kinda.

like how in dopamin kris tells bojan hes gonna make him come on his fingers and then give him no break after, but later he still does give him a break and checks with bojan if hes still okay with it, if its too much etc. or how he keeps telling bojan to use his words, but always forgives him when bojan cant use his words or is too embarrassed to say what kris wants him to say. like theres never any real consequences.

and thats the thing with them: they are so in tune with each other and have a level of trust for each other that they never had with previous partners. bojan likes being bossed around but he wouldnt like if anyone was actually mean to him, hes not into humiliation or being actually punished for something.

kris knows when he says it that its all empty threats and he would never give bojan any real consequences, and bojan knows this as well, but he would also never intentionally misbehave bc he likes following commands.

they work so well together like that bc theyre both fully aware of what they and the other wants out of it, they know the others wishes and boundaries and limits etc, like there is just a level of trust and understanding between them like no other.

also theyre super in love. did i mention that. does that come across. thats not a kink thing but theyre just super mega in love and thats so important to me.

uhhhh i think thats basically all there is to them kink wise ✌🏼 sorry this got so long, oopsie

[autumngracy]

Hi, just a random question from a fan of AROS (for which I have no coherent words to decribe my admiration)- I'm sure you've been asked this a million times already, but I'm quite new to this fandom, so forgive me and feel free to ignore the question, of course- who did you base your Javert on, appearance-wise?

Actually I don't think anyone directly asked this before!

To be honest I didn't actually base him on anything or anyone in particular ... I think the reason for this is because I read the brick before ever seeing any adaptations of Les Mis, so the first Javert I pictured was just my own interpretation of him from the brick ...

And what's funny is I can't remember if I originally pictured him with short hair or long hair. I read the 1938 Heritage Press edition of the brick, which is the Wraxall translation + about 1500 Lynd Ward illustrations, and in those illustrations he has short hair. But, oddly, I didn't remember it as being short in those illustrations? I had to go back and look years layer to confirm. (Alas, my beautiful Heritage Press copy is lost somewhere now!)

So I don't know if the long hair thing was me originally picturing it that way despite the illustrations being otherwise (possibly because the illustrative style made it somewhat vague at first?), or if it was from me later getting brainrot from looking at all the post Terrance Mann Javert designs ...

Best I can say about the hair issue is, well ... I just really happen to like male characters with long hair ... idk why lol. I have a lot of male OCs with long hair and every time I make one, part of my brain goes "Another one? For real? Do we not have enough of these little bitches already? If you don't stop putting long hair on all these characters people are gonna start to think you have some kind of kink."

Which. Well. I'm actually asexual so idk lol I think it's just an aesthetic preference

ANYWAY

For his wardrobe, that's just the brick descriptions plus factual research into 1830's era menswear. The only anachronistic element of his appearance really is his hair, but I do get around that by pointing out that he could have simply picked the (older and naval oriented) style up while he was at the Bagne (which did in fact have a dress mandate for keeping long hair tied up, suggesting it was a common enough hairstyle among the guards) and just never dropped it even after it became unfashionable—because A) he doesn't seem to give two shits about being fashionable, B) keeping short hair means either spending money to keep it short or having an intimate enough relationship with someone that they will do it for you free—neither of which I can see him wanting to do—and also C) he appears to be a creature of habit, so keeping the same, easily self-maintained hairstyle over the years fits my understanding of him.

Also, I'm not even exaggerating his tools of the trade because there really is a line in the brick about him having some kind of sword, which I had to go back and reread several times because it surprised even me (but it's 3am and I'm too assed to look it up rn). And we already know he has 2 pistols and a bludgeon (which the brick says he holds tucked up invisibly in his sleeve, Assassin's Creed style, lmao).

On another subject—

Given his stiff and distanced way of interacting with the world, questionable of social skills (see him bluescreening when Fantine is pleading with him in the mairie by way of what may be thinly veiled sexual advances), as well as his black and white thinking, penchant for being distracted by his thoughts to the point of complete obliviouness, propensity to either give extremely short responses or to go into ranting monologues, with little in between—plus the idea that he hates reading but makes himself do it for self improvement reasons, and how he seems to start stimming when lost in thought—I could definitely see him possibly being Autistic or having ADHD.

Now then, about his race ...

I know originally I actually pictured him differently than the Javert I wrote for my fic—as more white, at least—the way he appeared in the Lynd Ward until I read people discussing how he was probably supposed to be part Romani. And when it came to me having to pick conclusive character designs for my fic, I thought it would be much more interesting if it was a Javert who was visibly Romani instead of white passing, which he seems to be in most everything that bothers to mention his background.

I do find it weird that he's seemingly been played by nothing but white guys except for Norm Lewis and David Oyelowo (that I can find). So there's never really been a Romani Javert in stage or screen adaptations ... However, there's still a decent amount of fanart that shows him as darker skinned/Romani, so at least there's that.

Anyway I find that a visibly non white Javert just adds a lot more nuance and depth to his character, even compared to a still Romani but white passing version of him. Because then it changes how he interacts with and views the world (and vice versa), and it changes or adds to his motivations for doing what he does. It brings his (very canon!) struggle with internal racism to the forefront, which a lot of adaptations downplay or completely ignore.

I think part of why this appeals to me is that in modern times we are very used to the idea of the shitty oppressive white cop who is approaching everything from a position of absolute privilege and authority (which is a very shallow and uninteresting archetype, character-wise) ... and brick canon Javert, regardless of whether or not he is white passing, is not coming from a position of privilege—and not just because he is poor. He is coming from a position of social insecurity and vulnerability, which (at least it seems to me) he is trying desperately to escape/overcome.

And this makes his motivations for choosing his specific job far more interesting than "shitty white cop that enforces the status quo because he gets off on exerting power over other people". It suggests a sort of willful mental dissonance and denial that also make a lot of sense in hindsight when we consider the effects of his derailment.

The idea of him snapping and realizing for the first time that most everything he was doing was morally corrupt (or at least highly questionable) is one thing (and a level of obliviousness/ignorance that is somewhat hard to believe, imo) ...

But the idea that he knew how morally reprehensible his actions were all along, and was repressing it on purpose? To gain the only foothold he could see on the ladder of a world he was born on the lowest rung of? And after decades, is forced by external factors to finally, finally look his decisions in the eye and confront himself about them?

Well, shit. That hits a lot harder, doesn't it?

And it certainly hits him pretty hard. Obviously (as I pointed out in the the fic) he did mentally store away notes of things he found morally questionable about/during his career over the years—he just didn't let himself act on them. But it implies he was aware of the injustices, even if he only relegated that awareness to his subconscious.

The brick talks about how he felt he existed outside of society and had only two choices in life—black and white thinking; criminal vs protector, etc.—and it spells out how this is pretty much the direct result of his internalized rascism—so, I mean ... I don't think it's unlikely that canon Javert knew from the beginning that he was sacrificing his his heritage, culture, and moral compass in pursuit of respect and recognition from society (and thereby, social safety).

And in a Post-Seine world, he's forced to reconcile with all of that.

I may have just spoiled a major upcoming plot point for AROS tbh but oh well I was dropping breadcrumbs of foreshadowing about it the entire goddamn time lmao

[semantics-error]

I hope that this doesn't sound weird now but I wanted to thank you for last year. Your writing is everything. I struggled a lot in the past year. Your writing always made me happy though like damn "for having loved a little while" is a masterpiece. Even though I am certain you hate me, bc you aren't not giving me and the boys happiness.. and I finish "I could never deny you" in one setting. It's my comfort fic. I reread certain chapters every night. Just wanted to say thank you. ❤️

Thank you for spending your precious time reading my stories! I'm sorry you struggled last year, and I'm so glad my stories could help make things a little bit brighter for you :) Your incredibly sweet message doesn't sound weird by the way! I'm generally open to asks but one this kind is definitely okay. It also came at a perfect time, since I've been feeling disheartened about my writing lately. Thank you for this encouragement and the reminder that my words have the power to touch people's hearts <3

I am sorry about For Having Loved a Little While... I definitely did not mean to have a delay right when things finally turn toward angst T.T I had a hectic holiday so I won't post this week, but next week things should be back to normal! As an apology for the delay and a thank you for this kind message, here's a snippet of Chapter 15 of For Having Loved a Little While (subject to change in editing of course):

~~~

Sand was wasted. That much was clear, as he stumbled his way up the steps to his apartment.

He figured it out from the way the world spun as he got on the courier bike home. Or maybe he knew all the way back in the third shitty bar, where he had drunk two more awful shots and a beer. For how seedy the place was, the bill had been astronomical. At least, if he’d read the numbers correctly. Which, now that he tried to remember how math worked, seemed unlikely. 

At least he was almost home. 

Instead of heading inside after he climbed the stairs, Sand leaned against the cool wall of the hallway and texted Nick.

> coe outside

Sand’s phone lit up as Nick called instead of texting back. Sand declined the call with a jab of his finger. 

> where are you 

“Shhh,” Sand chided his phone when it chimed. He took his time, using autocorrect to get all the letters correct. 

> come outside. don’t tell ray

A minute later, he heard a quiet shuffling and then the door opened. 

Sand stepped back, wobbling to keep his balance, but intent on drawing Nick out of the apartment.

“What-”

“Shhh. Don't tell Ray.”

Nick rolled his eyes but gently closed the door behind him and followed Sand around to the stairwell. 

“Why can’t you just come inside?”

Sand thought that was rather obvious. “’M drunk.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Nick looked him up and down, eyebrows raised incredulously. “What the fuck, Sand? We’ve been so worried.”

Sand leaned his cheek against the cool plaster of the wall. Why was he here? He should have just stayed somewhere else until he sobered up. There was always his mom but-

“Sorry,” he mumbled. 

Nick sighed and opened his phone. 

Sand made a grab for it. “Don't tell him.” 

Nick swung the phone easily out of the way of his clumsy hands. “I’m just letting him know that you're safe and I'm with you. Sand—he's really worried.”

Sand blinked owlishly for a moment, processing Nick’s words. Worried about me? Why? “Don't tell him I’m drunk.”

“You should trust him more.”

“Do trust him.” I'm the problem. “Drank whiskey. Hibiki.”

“Shit,” Nick cursed under his breath. 

Ray’s favorite whiskey. Sand didn't even know why he'd picked it—he hated whiskey. Never drank it willingly, especially not the high-end Japanese stuff. But he couldn't see Ray with the smell of whiskey on his breath. Any alcohol was bad, but whiskey—he could never do that to Ray.

He had known that when he started drinking—he had wanted this conclusion. Wanted to punish himself without the option for Ray to smooth it all away.

But now, maudlin and without the recourse of Ray’s effusive affection, he regretted it deeply. 

“Wanna see Ray.”

Nick rolled his eyes as he propped his shoulder under one of Sand’s arms. “You literally just said you can’t.”

“Oh. S’right. I miss him.”

“Come on,” Nick said with a sigh.

Sand dug his heels in against Nick’s pull and made a questioning noise. Even if he couldn’t go into the apartment like this, he wanted to be here. As close to Ray as he was allowed. 

But Nick kept tugging. “I’m not waiting around in our stairwell for you to sober up. Let’s get coffee or something, that’ll help.”

Sand groaned but Nick made a good argument. And if they were out getting coffee there was less chance he would buckle and just stagger inside, clinging to his poor boyfriend with the smell of poison on his breath.

[zepskies]

Hey, Yep! Have you ever had writer's block? And if so, how did you break it?

Hey, Arty! 💜

Oh, definitely. 😅 No writer is safe from the dreaded state of "writer's block," but I do have some tactics I use to get through it...

5 Tips for Beating Writer's Block

Start plotting with an outline. ✍🏽

There are two kinds of writers, in my opinion:

Architects: writers who outline.

Adventurers: writers who freeform.

In most respects, I consider myself an Architect. My brain craves structure. So the way I beat writer's block while working on a project is by having a roadmap of what's going to happen next. That's thanks to my outline.

Even freeformers can develop some kind of pre-writing plan, whether that's creating a list of character bios, starting with the basic 3-Act triangle, or writing out a handful of bullet points to get you going.

For my personal process, I'll go from creating the basic premise/summary, to some loose bullet points of the story structure, to then fleshing out into full outlining of each chapter and scene, and finally drafting (and editing).

While I'm outlining, I'm also doing research and fact-checking as needed to get me through to the next scene and the next, until the end. My "roadmap" tends to be very detailed, so when I get to the drafting part, all I should have to reference is my outline.

Now, this doesn't mean that plot points won't change, or get switched around, or get chucked entirely. But if I have the blueprints of the house, I can change a window or a door, or even a whole support beam here and there, so to speak.

2. If I get stuck at any point during the outlining and/or drafting phase, I'll often go back and reread what I have already. 🧐

I'll edit and tweak as I do those readthroughs, whether it's my outline or drafted chapters. It freshens up the earlier scenes and plot points in my head.

In doing so, it'll hopefully unlock ways I can continue the later plot points, and even tie them back to things I'm setting up earlier in the narrative.

3. Revisit the thing that gave you inspiration in the first place! 🍿

Rewatch, reread, revisit the episode, movie, book, story, artwork that stroked your muse and had you daydreaming and brainstorming about the WIP you're working on. That can be a good way to revitalize you when you feel you're getting stuck on something in a plot point, or lacking motivation.

4. Create a music playlist. 🎶

I love doing this, especially for a series. I often create a playlist of songs that remind me of the setting, the characters, the overall story, or the romance I'm trying to create. Whether it's the words or the tone/rhythm that get me going, music inspires me greatly.

5. Go for a walk. ☀️

I walk for exercise, but it also gives me time to daydream and run through scenes in my head while vibing to my music (sometimes looking like a crazy person as I nod and make hand motions lmao).

This helps me clear my head, get some fresh air, then come back to my laptop with a little more pep in my brain, ready to pick up where I left off while writing. 👌🏽

Thank you so much for this question, @artyandink! (Sorry, meant to tag you when I originally posted.) I hope these ideas help you beat writer's block. 💕 Let me know if you have any additional questions!

[starlightbelle]

8, 17, & 30 for the fic writer ask!!

8. if you had to write a sequel to a fic, you'd write one for...

Of the ones I've shared, probably Here's to Not Being in Love. Zoro/Nami's dynamic is so fun to write; I left it open-ended for a reason, because I imagine I'll probably write more for them at some point. I don't have a sequel in the works yet, but if a compelling enough plot bunny should surface in my brain, I'm sure it'll insist upon being written. 😆

Ahhh I nearly forgot!! I intend to write a continuation of A Crisis of Confidence! Isuka doesn't get much appreciation among One Piece fans but I like her and I want to explore her relationships with other members of the Revolutionary Army. I've already penned her interacting with Dragon, so I think next on the docket would be something opposite Sabo. Both pre- and post-Marineford. I expect the latter will be very angsty, and I can't wait to explore it.

17. talk about your writing and editing process

✨The stars align. An idea strikes, either seemingly out of the blue, while discussing characters with my friends, or after hearing a line in a movie/song that hits just right.

Generally I jot down as much as I possibly can (if I'm at work or something I'll loop the idea/scene/dialogue in my head until I have a free moment to type down as much as I remember), key points or words to jog my memory later. I do often have a line or two that I know exactly how I want written. There are no shortcuts or abbreviations of those, I have to write the line out entirely.

After that, once I have a block of time I can more fully devote to writing I fill in the blanks. Whatever flows, whatever works. I am kinda an edit-as-I-go type of writer, though normally at this stage just finding a synonym for a word that works better or fixing the phrasing of a sentence.

If a particular scene is giving me trouble, the draft will remain a cocktail of disconnected snippets (sometimes in the wrong order) until I have a breakthrough with the gaps.

Once the story is penned, I read through it. Usually this stems from a desire to have the manuscript look tidy and neat and complete in my notes app. Along the way I'll make little changes, fix any errors I find, rearrange paragraphs if needed, etc.

After that, I reread it an absurd amount of times. This is motivated by pure enjoyment. I am my target audience so I like reading what I write. 😊 It just so happens that that's how editing works, too. Win-win.

If I'm sending it to a friend, or preparing to share it, I'll give it another pass or two (or three). Normally I don't have much to correct at this point.

I also will reread it again after I've shared a piece to make sure the formatting works, everything flows, etc.

Yep. That about sums it up. 😅 It isn't really a conscious checklist I go thru, just kinda how it ends up working out.

30. share a fic you're especially proud of

I'm proud of all my works! 😁 But one I haven't seen get much love is my seventh Corazon Week piece. Although I believe one of those three kudos is yours already lol.

It doesn't have any relationship tags, which I suspect might be the reason it's not showing up on Cora fans' radar, because the pov character is left intentionally ambiguous. It was an artistic decision I knew might keep it out of search results, and I debated using multiple relationship tags instead to cover all bases but I worried that might come across as baiting so I left it without. I may change it though if I get feedback on that.

Thanks so much for asking! I know my answers tend to get a little rambly, so thanks for your interest! This one was a bit like a behind-the-scenes feature on a DVD! (Prompt list)