the Dalaverse

Okay, I've been meaning to do this forever, but Vic just did and reminded me. I'm hoping it'll make me feel better. And no, I still don't want to talk about what is hurting me. Because of course, if I don't talk about it, it can't happen.

So here we are, My Favorite Things I've Ever Written.

Actually, first it occurs to me that I have no links to my fics on this journal. So here's my profile at fanfiction.net: Dala (by the way, I am so annoyed at having that 1 assigned to my penname; I have more fics, dammit!)

And NOW, Favorite Things I've Written.

We'll start with the X-Men fandom, which was the first. Ah, L/R, which I haven't written for two years but which I still consider to be an OTP.

We might as well go in chronological order, though there are fewer things I like about the older fics.

From Always Watching Over Her:

She's sitting on a bench, unwrapping a sandwich. He sniffs appreciatively. Ham and Swiss cheese. Lettuce, tomato, no mayonnaise.

Okay. That might be a strange first thing to point out, but...I like it. I feel like it makes the scene accessible.

He only knows that despite their situation and its unfortunate limits, the one thing he can do is try and keep her safe.

And so he is always watching over her.

I like this sad Logan, even if he isn't particularly canonical (but bear in mind that I wrote this before I read any X-fic, and I didn't have quite as good a grip on such concepts). Okay, yeah, the first fic isn't that great, but it's got sentimental value, and Dark Ferret liked it!

Next we get to the whole "Third Time" debacle. The story I wrote next -- or sort of at the same time -- was "What We Can't Have," which later became a lead-in to my first (semi-)epic, "Third Time's the Charm." When ff.net's chaptering function first became available, I grouped "Third Time" and the other stories set in its universe ("...Can't Have," "Touch," "Thanks, Bob," and "Not-So-Sweet Dreams"). That large fic series went on the movieverse page. However, I left the original versions of "Third Time," "Dreams," and "Thanks, Bob" where they originally were posted: on the comics page. I deleted "Can't Have" from the comics page (for what reason, I can't remember). So "Touch" appeared twice on the movie page, as both a one-shot and part of the "Third Time" continuum, while "Can't Have" existed only as part of "Third Time." When ff.net placed its ban on NC-17 fics, "Touch" was deleted, as was the revamped movie-page "Third Time" -- because "Touch" was one of its chapters so I had the whole thing as NC-17. I left the untouched comics versions alone, planning to eventually re-upload the "Third Time" monsterfic on the movie page (re-rated, because let's face it, I can't write smut to save my life and even "Touch" did not deserve its initial rating).

Then, of course, my computer crashed and I lost all of the fics on my hard drive.

Thus, "Can't Have" and "Touched" are, unfortuanately, gone forever, as is my NC-17 X-Men fic "Hold On/Good Enough" (which is the worst loss, because I worked really hard on that fic and I loved it.) I saved the HP NC-17 "Chimera Incubus" because I reposted it as "O Chimera Incubus" with an R rating, long before the ban went into effect and the crash happened. It was a terrible oversight on my part to not have those fics saved on disk, and also to favor my HP fics over my X-Men fics just because that was the fandom I was currently ga-ga over. I'll never stop smacking myself for those mistakes. I save every little bit of my writing, people. Stuff that went nowhere, stuff that's only a paragraph, stuff that plain sucks. It hurts to have those fics disappeared. And ironically, none of those fics really deserved to be rated NC-17; I did it only to be safe.

In their memory, what I liked about them, even if I can't remember the precise wording.

"What We Can't Have" -- I loved having Rogue sunbathing on the roof, bopping to Bon Jovi. I loved Logan attacking her with the watering can. And I loved the image of their lips pressed against opposite sides of a rose, just inches apart. It was an amateurish fic, but I liked it.

"Touch" -- I didn't like much about this fic; it was just an exercise in smut. I don't remember it very well and I imagine it wasn't terribly original.

"Hold On/Good Enough" -- I'm trying to remember the exact structure of this fic. It had lyrics from the two Sarah McLachlan songs as its chapter titles. It started off with Gambit leaving Rogue and her seeking comfort -- in a purely sexual fashion at first -- in Logan's arms. Logan and Jean had previously had an affair, and Jean confronted Logan about the danger and potential all-around emotional hurt of his relationship with Rogue. It also had a very short muted sex scene, for which it was (stupidly) rated NC-17. Rogue also had a talk -- or rather, a non-talk -- with Storm. I don't remember if anything in particular made the shit hit the fan, but I think Logan wanted more than just sex (heh. Hehe). So he and Rogue fought, and he left. He went to her hometown, where he had a conversation with a large-breasted diner waitress and met Rogue's mother. Meanwhile, Rogue found out that she was improbably pregnant and was bummed. She decided to leave and Logan found her at the train station, where there was making up and then making out. It was a fluffy ending.

I particularly loved the dynamic between Jean and Logan. I do sort of remember a specific line, one of Logan's thoughts -- it was about how forgiveness and how Scott had forgiven Jean but would never forgive Logan himself. I don't remember if Logan and Jean forgave themselves. I also loved the sex scene and Rogue curled up with Jubes and Kitty in an armchair after Logan left.

Okay. Moving on.

Third Time's the Charm:

That was why Logan had gone back up north again, to escape the light breeze of summer here. To get away from the sight of her face.

He had only succeeded in training that face to remain before his eyes when the real owner was miles away. He'd only found peace in an hour or so of restless sleep each night, after waking trembling and sweat-soaked from dreams in which men in white coats cut Rogue open. The only birdsong he encountered was alternately her soft sweet voice, imploring him to hold her closer, and her terrified screams as faceless phantoms pulled her away. \

Poor Logan. This is definitely the most fucked-up I've ever written him.

What he would do, instead, was sleep.

There are three kinds of sleep. The first is light and easily disturbed, the sort of sleep you fall into when watching a boring movie. Then there's a steady, even slumber, the kind most people experience at night, where your brain is free to delve into the world of dreams, and your arms are wrapped contentedly around someone warm and soft. If he had ever experienced that type of sleep, he couldn't remember it.

And lastly, there is a sleep of utter depth. It is one breath away from comatose and two away from dead, and it is what you seek when you want to be at peace, but it offers no real rest and when you wake, you only feel more exhausted. It isn't really sleep at all, it is oblivion, but sometimes that's better.

That little thing on sleep -- absolutely one of my favorite things I've ever written, EVER.

Rogue craned her neck back to behold Scott, smiling down at her. "Mind if I join you?"

She shrugged and turned back around. "It's a free country."

"For now, at least," he replied cheerfully as he pried off his shoes and settled down beside her.

Lookee, Cyclops made a joke! I love movie!Scott, I really really do.

"...I don't think there's a single mutant who hasn't wished to be normal. Especially ones like you and me, because our abilities affect the way we deal with people."

She knew he was being kind and trying to help, but Rogue was angry at a lot of things, and here was a rare chance to express it. "Easy for you to say. You can touch your girlfriend."

"And Logan knows what color your eyes are," he shot back.

I love Scott and Rogue together (not romantically, of course, at least not permanently). I honestly believe they'd be able to to connect easily, because if you ask me Whose Powers Suck Worst, it's the two of them. Plus, Rogue needs love and comfort. All kinds, all the time. And Scott is very solid and warm and comforting.

He spoke when she was halfway out the door, in a soft, broken whisper such as she'd never heard him use. "Jeannie?"

Jean turned, and swallowed at the pain in his eyes. "I only take them . . . to forget."

"I know," she said, her own voice thick. "I know, Logan. Go home and try to rest. It'll be alright."

*whimper*
I love Logan.

Rogue did dream of him. She dreamt, as she had so often, of his body over hers, his hands roaming everywhere, but before it could progress further the image vanished, replaced by a simple, impossibly clear view of her own room.

Caught between waking and sleeping, Rogue got out of bed, moving stiffly.

He was calling to her, his pain a part of her own. And in the dream, she was allowed to go to him. In the dream, everything was safe, and she could take him in her arms and comfort him.

In the dream, she walked out of her room and down the hall to Logan's, not realizing that her sleeping body was doing the same.

The vision of the hallway was beginning to blur, the edges soft like an old photograph. The sharp colors were now in black and white, giving the dark area an eerie cast, but still she pressed on. He needed her, and the parts of him that were inside her could do nothing but obey.

Slowly, slowly, moving as if through syrup, Rogue pushed aside the heavy air and opened his door. She was not surprised to find it unlocked; a man with such heightened senses and powerful weapons hardly needed a simple lock to deter those who would harm.

And she came not to harm, but to heal.

Dreams. They are fun to write.

"I . . ." She paused, confused. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He was supposed to sweep her into his arms and tell her that all her fears were baseless, that she was beautiful and desirable and he wanted her.

He was not supposed to be brusque, and he was *not* supposed to be drunk. All of her instincts screamed at her to apologize for intruding, to turn around and walk out of the door as fast as she could, but inside her head he was still crying, grieving, and she couldn't leave now.

I liked the way I handled their mental connection in this fic.

When three months passed without a word, Rogue stopped giving the mailbox dirty looks.

When six months passed, people noticed that she smiled more often, and even flirted with some of her male friends.

When nine months passed, she let Bobby take her out on a date now and then, though they did nothing beyond holding hands.

Finally a year passed, and she had turned eighteen a few months ago, but she still woke up every few weeks from dreams of him. She'd thought no one noticed, but one night at a fancy French restaurant, Bobby had taken her hand and told her that they shouldn't see each other anymore. She had been surprised and asked him why, and he said, "I'm here with you, Rogue, but I'm on the outside, and he'll always be on the inside." And she had nodded, because it was the truth, and they were better friends for the extra time spent together.

Because I've always thought that was the way it would happen.

When the phone rang, she only tilted her chair back in the way that so annoyed Xavier and let the machine pick it up.

I like reminding readers that Rogue's just a kid, just a teenager, and she does stuff like tilting her chair back.
Not that some adults don't do it too, of course.

And the next thing he knew was the cold of the snow against his cheek, and the warmth of his blood staining it scarlet.

*Déjà vu,* Logan thought grimly. Panic had gripped him for a moment: he thought to look up, to see his old camper at the top of the hill, Rogue frightened and trapped inside . . .

But no, he'd crashed his bike into that damned car. And someone up there was probably hurt, or worse.

I hurt Logan a lot in this fic -- physically, I mean.

"And I'm sure you've figured out by now that we used the woman 'Esmerelda' as a connection, that the drugs she has been feeding you over the past year are ones I developed myself.

"They wear down your remarkable immune system, so that your healing factor is virtually useless and you're more susceptible to torture."

He gazed at the pale serum contemplatively. "First, you're going to tell us everything you can remember about the process by which you acquired your adamantium skeleton. Then," Riley continued, leaning over Logan, who couldn't flinch away, "we're going to open you up and see for ourselves how it was done."

And as the needle pricked into his arm, Logan was afraid in a way he hadn't felt for a long, long time.

And here's where it all comes out, and we're wincing for Logan's sake.

Logan stirred. "Rogue," he breathed. Slowly the drug was wearing off, and even in this dark sterile place, he knew what home felt like.

I just like that.

Thanks, Bob (takes place in the "Third Time" universe)

"It's the Barenaked Ladies."

Logan frowned. "But . . . they're men."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes darlin', I know, it's just a band name. They're Canadian," she added helpfully.

Hee. Just hee.

It doesn't get much better than Logan singing along to "Lay, Lady, Lay."

That's all I have time for right now. I'll do the rest later.