#inclv

remember how all my les mis fic is collected in one convenient post? now my marvel fic, too, is listed all in one place

organized by group and then by story arc, chronologically, to the best of my abilities

if we use warren as the first reference point—there’s a year right now in the timeline between him losing his wings and then beginning the regrowing process. between there, it’s completely plausible imo that him becoming a horseman could have happened. we can explain away the later regrowth of his wings with antiex (which didn’t happen in 616) as... idk, the metal ones were stripped away again after his horseman status was removed maybe

second reference point imo is the mutant massacre, which we haven’t touched at all yet but i’m assuming it happens in inclv canon since iirc warren doesn’t have an alternate cause of injury mentioned. plus that way we get to bring in the morlocks; i don’t think we’ve done much with them yet. (immediate thought: let’s make callisto canonly queer please instead of just subtextually)

what’s being done with the deadly genesis arc?  because i am quite possibly the only one who cares but, here are some headcanons for your consideration:

suzanne and petra.  they were a thing.  it was adorable.  

to be totally frank, they’re both lesbians.

armando muñoz is a greyromantic grey-bisexual

gabriel summers has no gender, only rage.  also has ‘gran mal’ epilepsy of the same time that julius caesar was rumored to have.  also looks more like a teenager and less like he’s 30 and Lifts

ideally i would like for petra and suzanne not to die but at the same time i understand how important the burying of their deaths is for disillusioning scott when it comes to charles is, so, like, if we have to leave them dead i understand, but i would really prefer them coming back by dint of armando’s survival powers being blasted past omega with gabriel’s.

He doesn't know how long he's been in here he has no sense of time and everything happened all at once before they got thrown in the city holding cells but now its like time stopped and they're all just sitting around and god he can't move he feels like he's stuck in concrete.

"Let us out," he shouts hoarsely to the empty hallway, throwing himself against the door. "We didn't break any laws, you can't keep us here - "

"Yes, actually, they can." It's his father's hard voice interrupting him, from the back of the cell where they're both locked up.

As for the lodge itself, it's a cosy building with four bedrooms upstairs, enough room for a family twice as big as Warren's. The downstairs is mostly an open living room with a real fireplace, off of which there's a kitchen and a stocked pantry.

Scott's only complaint is that it's terribly lit inside, but Warren shows him where everything is and swears up and down he won't move the furniture around.

It seems like it'll be the perfect place to spend the last two weeks of December, and ring in the new year before going back to school.

-

It's the week before break when Warren catches up to him after class and says, "Hey, Scott, wait up."

"Hmm," Scott says, and angles his head towards Warren.

"So," Warren begins, in that drawn-out way he does when he's not quite sure of what he's about to say. "I called my folks the other night, and they're going somewhere out of the country for the winter. Dad said since they won't be around, it's okay if I take over our lodge while I'm on break."

No family in the world needs to be as filthy fucking rich as the Worthingtons are, Scott thinks, but he keeps that to himself and simply says, "That sounds great."

"Yeah!" Warren agrees eagerly, his feathers rustling as he readjusts his wings. "And, uh - well, I mean, I'm going to go no matter what, but I was wondering if you wanna come."

"Me?" Scott echoes, though he knows what he heard. He's just surprised, that's all. 

Warren sighs very loudly and hits him in the shoulder. "Yeah, you! Who else would I be talking to?"

Scott shoves back without even needing to turn and find where Warren is next to him. "Give me a break," he says. "Why me, is all I meant."

"Well," Warren points out, "I figure you're probably not going anywhere otherwise. You wanna come or not?"

"Your parents won't mind?"

Warren laughs and throws an arm around Scott's shoulders. "Long as they aren't around, Scotty, I don't think they care what I do. It'll be fine."

i swear to god i’ll finish this at some point but have what’s here bc being in my drafts isn’t helping it

It’s the very edge of autumn when they first see the house, and the greenness of the wooded lot is giving way to the blush of red and soft glow of gold against a blue sky, and in the living room Vanda stands in the sunlight that floods in from the wide windows, looking out at the front path, and her face shines.

"Here," she says, and turns to take Jean’s hands. "It’s here."

It's an old house, with hardwood floors and a real fireplace, and a set of creaky stairs to the second floor, where three bedrooms exit from the landing. The previous family's moved out already, and with nothing inside the great empty spaces of the rooms are like a blank canvas laid out before them.

Jean thinks of what they'll move in from the apartment, and what new things they'll have the space to keep now, and she smiles back at Vanda.

"Here," she agrees. "You're right."

-

Vanda takes pictures of the apartment before they start packing up - of the flowers lined up under the window, of the books stacked up on the shelves, of their coffee cups on the stained end table. Of each side of every room, after two years that they've lived there, to compare later to her pictures from moving in.

This is not the place where they fell in love, but it's the place where they learned what to do with it.

And they've outgrown it now, so they pack away those memories with Vanda's camera, which she wraps up in tissue before putting it in the shoebox she keeps it in and taping it all up.

Jean packs away the books, and the dishes, wrapped in newspaper to keep them from breaking. Vanda marks the boxes with a black marker as soon as they're sealed, in her neatest handwriting, and adds FRAGILE in bold lettering to everything breakable.

Within a week of finding the house, the life they've been building up disappears into a dozen cardboard boxes lined up against the living room wall.

"Are you ready?" Jean asks, standing in the doorway between the living room and the gutted kitchen.

"No," Vanda says after a moment's consideration. "Not really."

Jean looks at her. She's looking at everything packed away, at the blank-eyed windows along the side wall, at the furniture all crammed into the living room where they can take it when they move out. 

"But also," she says, and looks up. "I want to."

Jean smiles. "I know," she says softly, and Vanda smiles back.

-

They close the sale on Thursday afternoon, and Friday morning the rest of the team shows up at the apartment.

"Ready to move out?" Warren asks brightly as soon as he's inside. 

"Ready to move in, more like," Jean says wryly, and gestures around at the mess. "Vanda's out getting coffee, she'll be back in a few minutes."

"Quite alright," Hank says as he bounds in from the landing. "Do you suppose it would perturb her if we began?"

"Um, I don't think so," she says. "We might as well get started."

"What shall be transported first?" Hank asks, cracking his knuckles as he looks around the room. 

She glances around herself. "Furniture, first, I think," she says. "Though I think we'd like to at least get everything into the house today."

"Absolutely," he agrees, and rolls his shoulders back as he glares at the couch through his glasses. "Let us get this undertaking underway, hm?"

He grabs the nearest chair with both hands and hefts it up off the floor with a grunt. "Careful," Jean says, but he's got it under control; with Warren's guidance he carries the chair out onto the landing and down the stairs. She casts a look around the room, finds its match, and lifts it to bring down after them.

"Morning, Jean," Bobby shouts when she steps out onto the sidewalk. 

"Morning," she calls back, though she's focused mostly on her chair until she sets it down at the back of the van. "Hi, Bobby," she says when she can give him her attention. "Hey, Scott."

"Hey," Scott says, raising a hand in greeting. "Vanda coming, too?"

"She's out," Jean explains again. "She'll be back in a few minutes."

"With coffee, apparently," Warren adds helpfully. "Let's head back up - oh." He frowns at the closed door. "Jean? Key?"

"Oh, um, right," she says, and fishes in her pocket to find it empty. "Uh--"

"Balcony door latched?" he asks.

"Shouldn't be," she says, and before she's even closed her mouth he's gone, flying up to let them in again.

-

She and Vanda drive up together in the car, an hour north on the parkway and another fifteen minutes on narrow county highways until they reach North Salem and pull up outside the house behind the hill.

Vanda is quiet beside her, head leaned up against the window, her coffee cup wrapped up in both hands. She's been on edge as much as Jean has, her nerves frayed by the chaos in the apartment and her eagerness tempted with worry. She has her camera strapped around her neck, the Polaroid, so she can take pictures of the house before they move in the furniture.

Thank God, Jean thinks, for the others, who drove down from North Salem already that morning to meet them at the apartment, and who will do it again to get the second load of furniture. The moving things she could do alone, most likely - but the rented moving van is a valuable asset.

They arrive, and Vanda stirs, stretching her arms out and pressing her palms against the dash.

"I'll run in to take the pictures," she announces, and unfolds herself from the car, hurrying up the walk with her sweatshirt wrapped around her and disappearing into the house.