IV. Wreckage and Sand
Salt. The bitter taste burned in her throat and gritted her eyes. Marie shook her head slowly and fought the need to breathe. Her body begged for it, her lungs ached for it, but suspended in bitter cold saltiness, Marie fought the urge nevertheless. The most primal part of her brain demanded, but the most complex part refused. It told her she was dying, that another gulp would surely be her last. Stuck on repeating these facts to her over and over, this consciousness barely registered the hands that gripped her and moved her towards the surface. Those same hands that shook her, smoothed over her face, patted her cheeks, kept her head above water. She was lost in cold saltiness and seemingly nothing could get her out.
Logan clutched Marie tightly while screaming with all his might. Grabbing a piece of wood floating past, he waved it at the Esmeralda who now seemed further and further away with each passing moment. The fires on her still raged and above the sounds of churning water and rumbling clouds he new they could never hear him. Flinging the plank away in frustration, Logan sputtered in the water and turned his sights to Marie. Her lips were pale and she was still breathing shallowly. Feeling over the finger shaped bruises on her cheek visible even under a moonless sky, he scanned the waters around them for anything that could help.
The water was full of debris, all bobbing and floating in the same struggle he had with the current. Spotting a sizeable piece of hull some metres off, Logan switched her to his other side and waded through the twirling water towards it. Struggling to get a good hold on the plank, he partially heaved Marie's upper body onto it and found a firm grasp of his own. It dipped dangerously below the water level and could not support both their weight, but clutching firmly as the seas churned and churned, Logan hoped it would be enough. Checking Marie's breathing one last time and finally cutting away the ropes that held her hands together, he lowered his head to the wood surface and surrendered to the bone-deep tiredness consuming him.
Marie was lost in a familiar dream when something fluttered over her hand. Slightly annoyed at it's insistence, she creased her brow and hoped that it would leave her be. But it continued and her senses only sharpened at it's presence. As if remembering that they could work, those senses started to come back one at a time. First was the smell of salt, then the grainy feel pressing into her arms, then the sounds of gentle lapping and then the heat of the sun on her face. Each of these senses grew sharper, less nebulous and more defined, slowly rousing Marie from the darkness, until suddenly they merged in some place in her brain to complete a picture it was otherwise unprepared to have faced.
Feeling the fluttering over her hand again, Marie opened her eyes. The little fiddler crab that was tugging at her gloves scampered away in protest when she whimpered and shook it free. Then came the realization. Staring at her torn gloves, Marie's eyes widened. Ever so slowly, she raised her face out of the warm sand. With a gasp, she pushed up to a kneeling position and took in the sight before her. She was on a beach, wide and arcing, framing an immensity of lush greenery not far off that was as beautiful as it was foreboding.
A sound came out of her throat and roving her eyes back to herself, she almost choked at the state of her soaking, dirty dress. Attempting to stand on her own two feet, she looked around in growing agitation, for despite the hum of birds, the sway of trees and the soft stir of the ocean, it was completely still and alone. Odd because those things were noise onto themselves but they wove together effortlessly and silence pitched forward, interrupted only by Marie's harsh breaths in her own ears.
"Hello!! Hello!!"
She clutched a hand to her neck. The strain of yelling tore at it's salt and scream ravaged interior. Her stomach felt worse, protesting no doubt to the saltwater it now detested. Choosing instead to preserve what voice she had, Marie looked around at the scattered wreckage debris littering the beach. A kettle, wood, a shoe, wood, a tangle of rope and more wood. But off in the distance there was something else and in an instant Marie knew what it was. Dragging her sodden skirts, she weaved through the littered beach to the shape of a man. Falling to her knees at his side she clasped her hands together and muttered a prayer to God. As a graduate of Madame Witherstone's School for Ladies she was well rehearsed in many prayers but none came to mind at the moment. She opted for simplicity. This was the man that had saved her life and she didn't want to have any miscommunications with God.
"Please be alive, please be alive, please God be alive."
Still chanting, she gave the body a shove. It didn't budge, so she pushed harder and prayed faster. Eventually she managed to move him onto his side and moved long hair and sand away from his stubbly features. Equal parts dismayed and enthralled, she carefully moved her head to his chest. He was breathing. More encouraged, she started poking at his shoulder, trying to rouse him from his slumber.
"Mr. Logan, Mr. Logan, please wake up, Mr. Logan."
The poking was getting harder and her voice more urgent when she realized he was not waking up. Looking around the beach again, Marie stood. She could see for a good two kilometers in either direction, but there was no-one else. Falling to her knees again, she gave Logan more encouragement by way of poking and prodding until the reality of death dawned on her. Maybe he was dying, and if he did, she would truly be alone.
More scared than she ever recalled being, including the time Creed held her to his face, Marie wept bitterly and stretched out by Logan's body. Moving her twisted, matted hair out of her face, she eased out over the sand again and placed a hand through the opening in the front of his shirt to touch the place over his heart. She had never been so bold as to touch a man like that before, but she needed to feel his heartbeat, faint and sketchy as it was, she needed to hear it's rhythm to assure herself that he was still alive and she was not alone. Exhausted of thinking about the events of the previous day and still crying softly, Marie fell back into darkness with the same simple prayer on her lips. Please be alive, please be alive, please be alive.
The first thing Logan felt was the warmth of the morning sun on his face and the feel of a weight on his chest. Blinking against the residual salt in his eyes, he brought a hand up to his forehead as his head seemed to throb with a heartbeat of it's own. He was alive. It seemed wonderful and awful at the same time, but facts were facts and he was alive. Squinting at the merciless glint of the sun, he shaded his eyes and went to sit up. Only then did he realize that he wasn't alone. Catching the hand that was touching his chest before it fell away, Logan stared at Marie's tattered form. She was asleep, but the tears drying down her cheeks still had moist trails. For once, the strange white streaks in her hair were messy and tangled, but still managed to shine in the sun. He could still faintly make out Creed's hand outlined on her cheek. She must have thought he was dead. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Logan tucked the cross around her neck back into her high collar, then looked away ashamed at having touched her. But she was alive. That bastard Creed hadn't succeeded, and he was at least happy about that. Giving a quick assessing look around and then towards the horizon, he lay back down again and thought about how to wake her highness up.
Still deciding, he looked down at the hand he was holding. He wanted to laugh. Even shipwrecked on a damn island, her majesty still had her white gloves on. Partially ripped and filthy to the point they could never be white again, Logan pulled it off just as Marie stirred. Caught in mid act, Logan watched her jump back and clutch her neck. He was left with the glove in his hand.
"You're awake!"
Logan sat up and drew his water logged boots up. He couldn't deal with her astonished wide eyes or the fact that he had been a second away from kissing her hand. Especially when she drew back like he was filth.
"Disapointed?"
Marie huffed in disbelief. Even in the most dire of situations he was still so rude.
"Must you always be so crass?"
Logan discarded his boots into a nearby sand dune with practiced nonchalance. Five seconds awake and it had already begun.
"Listen your highness, I've got work to do, the sun is rising fast and if you want to lecture on manners, go ahead, I'll be trying to get off this sandbar."
Standing up and wiggling his toes into the sand, Logan took another look around. There was a lot of work to do and he was wasting time. Collection was first. Spotting a large plank of wood in the short distance, he began walking.
"Where are you going?"
He was surprised to hear the panic in her voice. Did she think he had a boat waiting down the beach?
"Where do you think I'm going?"
She got to her feet and stumbled behind him.
"Don't answer a question with another. I asked where you were going."
Still walking, Logan huffed and grabbed a hold of his fluttering white shirt. Bringing it over his head, he threw it over to a dry patch of sand and began the process of hauling the wreckage. Caught off guard at the sight of him bare-backed, Marie looked away which caused her skirts to tangle in a broken cask she failed to see and fall. Logan turned around and watched her struggle with the dress. She looked up in embarrassed annoyance.
"Don't just stand there, help me please."
"You should really take that off. You don't need the hassle."
Marie stopped struggling and almost swallowed her tongue. Logan had never seen someone turn that red so quick.
"Are you seriously implying that I..."
He watched in fascination as she stammered over herself. Giving her dress a final yank that left a significant amount of lace attached to the cask, she stood up, green eyes glaring.
"That is perhaps the greatest insult you could have offered. I am a lady, and you should mind your manners and keep from making such crude statements."
Logan smiled slowly. It was the same look she had that day on the wharf.
"Suit yourself, but it ain't nothing I haven't seen before, your highness."
Turning just as her jaw dropped, Logan continued on his salvage mission. Taking long strides that he knew she couldn't catch up to, he left her behind, still fuming and yelling in indignation. Eventually she stopped trying to chase him back and forth on the beach and settled in a heap of tattered peach, almost gray, satin. Drawing her knees up as far as her corset allowed, Marie settled her forehead on her knees. Her mind still swam with everything new in her situation and she needed time to think.
She was alone in a strange, unbearably hot place with the person she detested most in the world as her only companion. She missed Kitty, her father, St. John, even Bobby. Remembering all of the near death experiences she suffered in the past 24hrs alone, she wrapped her hand around the cross on her neck sadly and watched some crabs run back and forth not unlike Logan. That made her perk up again and look at the man working down the beach. For hours, he had trucked back and forth and she felt a slight pang of guilt for not having at least lifted a finger to help. But then remembering how insanely obnoxious the man was, Marie kicked at the sand under her feet and put those thoughts aside.
She was not feeling well and her stomach hurt. It had been cramping since she woke up and it was getting worse by the minute. Rubbing it slightly, the thought of food suddenly sprung to mind and she felt incredibly foolish for having skipped her lunch the day before. Had she known pirates were going to kidnap her, she would have indulged at least. What would she eat anyways? Remembering a book that she read once where the hero survived in the forest eating nuts and berries, Marie turned to look at the tangle of greenery bordering the beach. It was frightening and strange, and not quite a forest, but her stomach could not be ignored. Picking herself off the warm sand that had at least managed to dry her skirts, Marie ventured a look at Logan. He was busy working, so she carefully made her way to the border where the sun hardly penetrated past the mass of foliage from above.
Logan's mind was a busy tangle as he processed all that needed to be done. He was pretty sure he knew where they were as well as positive that there would be extensive searching for the girl. Her father was a wealthy man and would certainly have vessels sweeping the seas for answers. But that could take time. Meanwhile they needed shelter and food. Plus he needed to scout the island, check for animals and fresh water. It was going to be a busy first few days and with her majesty being no help whatsoever, he was in for a lot of work.
But in all fairness, he hadn't really given her much of a chance. The whole dress bit had been excessive. Even though it was true, he had no right to insult her. He had never been around women other than prostitutes, but he gathered women like her even closed their eyes to change to not see themselves naked. Chortling at the thought, Logan thought back to that glorious flash of leg he caught the day she cleaned him up. If that was really the case, it was a damned shame.
Suddenly uncomfortable again, Logan reminded himself of his place. She had a fiancé even and it was surely not worth being hung by daddy to lay a finger on her now. Even though she needed it - badly. That little kiss Frenchy had given her on the wharf spoke volumes. She was as inexperienced as they came and that probably explains why she fell for a guy like that. Only there was more to it than that. High society stayed high society, which meant old Frenchy also had a name and money. Two things he would never get his hands on.
Logan shook the thought out of his head and dropped the things he was carrying. He hated people like that, why on earth did he even consider having those things. A name and money never mattered before and they shouldn't matter now. Throwing a tired glance again to where she was sitting and probably hoping for tea service to drop out of the sky, Logan held his breath when he saw that she was gone. Scanning the beach quickly, he grabbed his shirt and started walking to where she had been. If she wasn't on the beach or in the water, there was only one other place she could have gone.
Marie walked carefully in her stocking'd feet through the surprisingly clear jungle floor. Hearing bird calls high above her and the drip of water everywhere, she marveled at the dappled light that gave everything around her a spectacular green glow. She always liked being outdoors. While Kitty preferred to read in the study, she was always in one of the gardens, but none of the books she ever read prepared her for what she was submerged in now.
The air was mistier and hotter, but filled with the fragrance of flowers she had never seen before. Reaching for her still gloved right hand, she pulled on her hole riddled glove and dropped it on the ground. Enthralled by the massive tropical leaves covered in dew, she ventured curious hands to touch everything she passed by, eventually stopping when she reached a cluster of what she knew were fruit. Tearing them off one by one, she gathered them into her skirt. Carrying several of another variety, she picked happily, completely unaware of approaching sound of hooves. Only when she turned to follow a giant butterfly dance by did she see what was behind her. Letting the fruit she had gathered fall to her feet, she screamed and ran.
Logan was absentmindedly turning the thin cotton glove Marie had discarded in his hand and still following Marie's 'I must touch everything' trail when he heard it. He withdrew the knife tucked into his waistband and charged through the vegetation. Just a short distance ahead he came to a semi clearing where Marie was frantically trying to climb a tree in her nightmare of a dress.
To Logan's shock, there was a wild boar grunting and stomping beneath her. It was not terribly large, but some animals were dangerous no matter what. Intent on Marie's dangling feet, the beast was ramming into the tree ignorant of the man stalking him from behind. It was Marie that saw him first. She yelled out 'Logan' and catching his scent the beast turned. Unfortunately for him, it was too late as Logan brought his knife crashing down on his back. A shrill squeal cut the air and the beast turned to stick his attacker with his tusks. But Logan had yet to let go of the blade handle. Knowing that the animal's hide was thick and difficult to penetrate, he pushed down with all his might, falling to his knees and essentially pining the animal down. It's final squeak was cut in half when Logan withdrew the knife with a grunt and slid it effortlessly across the throat.
Watching the blood pour out of the creature and sprinkle onto the forest floor, Marie clasped a hand to her mouth and made a gagging sound. Still partially hanging off the low tree she was trying to escape up into, she tried to back down again. Her skirt catching on a branch, she fumbled and almost landed on the floor, but Logan was there to catch her and ease her down to the ground. Tears welling in her eyes at the sight of blood staining his white shirt, Marie struggled.
"Let go!!"
Logan let go immediately and still breathing hard from his run, wiped at the sweat on his brow.
"It's okay, it's dead."
Marie looked at the animal he was pointing to with the tip of his knife, still holding her stomach and weeping quietly. In an incredibly lucid moment it dawned on Logan that she had the same look on her face when he killed Creed. He had thought that she had forgotten but it was clear she hadn't. Wiping the blood off a nearby palm leaf, Logan resheathed his knife and took a step closer to the shivering girl. She looked up from the carcass tentatively.
"Hey, it's okay."
"You killed him."
Logan swallowed the guilt that surfaced in him. He was not a murderer by choice, but he was damn good at it and never hesitated when his life was on the line. Creed was responsible for the slash across his back and it was without feeling that he took the man's life. But it wasn't for that gash or the good friend he lost to him that he did it. It was for the girl. The minute he saw Creed lift his hand to her, his fate was sealed. Logan hadn't really confronted that move until now, and it felt odd because it marked a turning point. In the business of sailing he had come across countless battles, but not once had he killed for someone else. Looking into Marie's green eyes, he hoped that she understood, knowing that he himself barely did.
"I had no choice."
Marie squeezed her eyes and the images of burning and sword fights and cold water rose in her mind.
"They're all dead, and we're going to die too."
Logan watched her rub her arms and wished he could hold her, tell her it was okay. But it would be wrong. He settled for looking straight into her eyes and hoping she could catch the message he was conveying.
"The Esmeralda did not go down and we are still alive. Your father will come for you and we'll be here when he does. The Isabella deserved what it got."
Marie looked down at the carcass again and added regretfully.
"But it was my fault, they came for me."
Logan decided to abandon the ounce of propriety he had and walked to her. She took a cautious step back, but he caught her shoulder and held her in an embrace regardless, careful not to stain her remnant of a fine dress with the blood on his shirt.
"You did nothing. Creed was a madman who took and killed as he wished."
He pulled back slightly and looked down into her eyes to reiterate his sentiment.
"The Isabella got what she deserved."
Marie blinked back her tears and repeated his words.
"What she deserved."
Logan twitched a smile and Marie leaned forward, never thinking that the smell of sweat, salt and, sun could ever be pleasant or comforting. Ear pressed onto the space above his thumping heart, she closed her eyes and thanked God she wasn't alone. She had Logan. Totally disagreeable, utterly brave, foolishly dashing, wonderfully solid Logan. Then as if suddenly remembering something, Marie jumped back and smoothed out her dress. Logan frowned despite himself.
"Are you hurt?"
Marie looked down at her hands and wondered where her gloves were.
"No, no, well, my stomach is a little upset, I, I picked some fruit...... to eat."
Logan took in her blush. He guessed high society didn't do much touching neither.
"It's the seawater. We swallowed so much. You'll be better once we eat. I found some things to cook with."
He looked down at the boar.
"And it seems like we have dinner. Why don't you go wait?"
Marie flustered and tried to smile before sidestepping the boar and heading to the direction in which they came. She knew what he was going to do, and still queasy, she walked off to find an overturned log to sit on. Even at a distance she could hear the cutting and the skinning. Not wanting to throw up, she headed further down to where she dropped her fruit. Gathering them in her skirts, Marie sat and waited again. Then she decided to carry them in her arms instead. After all, what would Mrs. Witherstone say about her lifting her skirts in the presence of a gentleman? That thought made Marie laugh, but her laughter died down as quickly as it started.
Logan was not a gentleman. He wasn't gentle about anything, he was just a - she thought about it carefully - he was just a man. And that was even worse. Because Mrs. Witherstone never talked about men, only gentlemen and Marie had never really dealt with men before. Sure there were carriage attendants and butlers and waiters and St. John, but she never had to sit and eat with them as equals. A thought made her jump to her feet, and she dropped some of the fruit she was cradling. Where would they sleep? Where would she bathe? How long would she have to wear this filthy dress? Losing more fruit by the second, Marie paced until Logan showed up with a hefty thigh of pork on each shoulder. Gathering her fruit again, Marie followed him mutely to the beach. It looked significantly better now that it was clear of the larger debris but Marie barely noticed as she followed what she could no longer deny was a man.
Wrapping the thighs on large palm leaves and tying them with rope, Logan ventured a look at Marie. He had gathered quite a substantial amount of wreckage and cluttered it under a group of palm trees that offered good shelter. She had dropped the fruit into a cracked basin he found and had sat timidly among the clutter, twitching in her clothes, making sure her gaze stayed on the water. He knew it had to do with the embrace in the forest. She had pulled away quickly and not uttered a single word since they had walked out of the jungle. The reality of the situation must have finally settled in and busy dragging huge stones into a circle for a fire pit, Logan thought about what to say. They were going to be living together for a while and like it or not, she had to get used to the idea.
"Aside from your stomach, are you hurt anywhere else?"
That startled her and caused her to look at him. Seeing that he was shirtless and sweaty again, Marie just as quickly looked down again.
"No. No. I'm fine."
He dropped a rock in place and looked over at her pulling on her high collar.
"I saw you limping a little. Are you hurt?"
Marie looked at him wide-eyed.
"Um, no."
Kicking the last rock into place, Logan wiped his brow on the back of his hand and walked to where she was perched with her back perfectly straight, no doubt because of the corset she had on. An idea occurred to him.
"Let me see your feet then."
She tucked them under her skirt immediately.
"That's quite alright. They're just tired."
He squatted down before her and put on his best poker playing face.
"If your feet are blistered, a few more days of walking on hot sand and bits of shell will get them raw, red, and bleeding. You could catch gangrene."
He didn't think it was possible, but her eyes got wider. Ever so slowly and very reluctantly Marie held out her feet. Shifting slightly she wiggled a little and demurely reached under her skirts to pull down her stockings. Taking one off, she tossed it to the side and Logan wondered how on earth she could stand being under so much coverings. Noticing that he was noticing her every move, Marie tried conversation at an unnaturally high pitch.
"Maybe they're a little swollen. Maybe you should check."
Biting his tongue to keep from laughing, Logan brought her feet to rest on his knee. Looking down at the pale feet smaller than his hands, he ran his fingers under her soft instep. She fidgeted a little. They were graceful little feet, but not well suited for beach waking. They were already slightly blistered.
"Well?"
"You need to wrap them for a few days, until you get used to it."
"Used to what?"
"Used to the sand."
She seemed to think that over and he put her feet back down again.
"Only I haven't found any fabric, or string."
He went to get up again, when she held out an arm.
"I have something."
Marie stepped out of her dress and breathed an instant sigh of relief. It might have been the height of fashion in London this season, but it was nothing but an annoyance out here. Checking to see that Logan was still working on the shelter with his back to her, she eased out of her slips and started to untie the three petticoats she had on next. Finally in only her corset and underwear, she began to unlace the forty fittings that held the boned corset together. Letting it fall to the pile of tattered lace on the sand ten minutes later, she checked on Logan's place again. Satisfied that he was whistling and busy, she picked up the petticoats and was about to tie one on when a warm breeze blew and she dropped it again. The heat was much more bearable without so many layers, and taking a moment to rethink her comfort level, Marie kicked at her peached nightmare and wondered what she could wear without appearing 'common' as Ms. Witherstone would say.
After a minute of sorting through her things, Marie decided that nothing would be appropriate so she might as well go for comfort. Bringing her slip over he head, she smoothed it over her shape and looked down for an unsure last look. It was a camisole on top with a rounded neck, a tie behind her back, short little cap sleeves and a skirt that at least reached her shins. Satisfied that the cotton was thick enough to prevent the outline of her underwear from showing, Marie gathered her things and stepped out from behind the wooden planks Logan leaned against a tree for privacy.
Logan was tying lashings around long strips of wood for what would become a roof when Marie cleared her throat behind him. Wiping his forehead with his handkerchief before turning around, he almost dropped it when he saw her settle down on a crate. She had a mountain of lace by her feet and was nervously fiddling with her dress. If you could call that a dress. It revealed bare arms, a long graceful neck, shapely calves, and the distinct sway of breasts that weren't flattened and pinned in place. Luckily for him, she was still busing avoiding eye contact to have noticed his reaction. She was nibbling on some fruit he wasn't sure was edible, but that she claimed she had seen in a book.
"Umm, I have it here for when you're ready."
Logan walked over and sat on the sand in front of her. Taking the corset in his hands he took no time in ripping the lining and separating the boning. In a short minute, the entire thing was in pieces, so he kneeled in front of her and took her foot to begin forming a cross between moccasins and slippers for her feet. The entire time neither said a word, Marie trying to ignore how his long black hair trailed down the center of his heavily muscled back, Logan too busy ignoring the softness of the shapely legs he was working on.
By the time Logan was done, the tension in the air was palpable. Marie jumped to her feet with a muttered 'thank you'. It was only then, when Logan dared to look at her face to a mutter a 'you're welcome', that he noticed the ugly mark across her neck. Before she could run off he pulled her down to the crate again with a hand on her shoulder.
"What's this?"
Marie blinked and brought a hand to cover her throat.
"It's nothing."
He pulled her hand away in sudden anger. There was a red angry ring around her throat, where Creed and his men had tied a rope to pull her along with. Had it not been for the slip's low neckline, he would have never seen it.
"This is something. I asked you if you were hurt!"
Marie blinked at the sudden harshness in Logan's voice and tried pulling back.
"It doesn't hurt anymore, and, and ..."
Logan narrowed his dark eyes at her.
"And you were afraid of showing me."
Marie flustered and started to move away, inadvertently crossing her arms across her chest.
"No, I..."
"Are you afraid of me?"
Marie snapped her eyes down to her lap in shame and embarrassment.
"No. I'm, I'm very grateful that..."
"Bullshit!"
Logan stood up with intensity. Marie watched as his hands flexed open and close.
"You still think I'm a barbarian, don't you? If I had wanted to hurt you, I would have done it already, so why am I not good enough for you to even trust?"
Marie stood up from the crate. She was tired of the awkwardness. Of not meeting his approval. She needed to think and to do that she needed to get away. Turning on her heel, she barreled down the beach, ignoring the sounds of things being thrown behind her.
Logan kicked the crate she was sitting on until something in his foot felt broken. Like always, he had overreacted and she had run off again. He wanted to stop her, tell her to come back, that he was sorry, but the need to break something was greater. He was the Wolverine and it was just not in his repertoire to be chasing after girls that cried at the drop of a hat.
He walked over to the thatched mats he was weaving and flung himself on their coolness. He needed time to cool off before he went to get her. Of course she had been afraid of him. The girl barely showed her ankles and she was supposed to trust him, a sailor she was trapped on an island with? It was ridiculous. She was weary of men and he had to keep reminding himself of that little fact. Lest she think he was after something, which he wasn't. At all. Placing an arm over his eyes, Logan worked to calm his breathing. Remembering something, he reached into the pocket of his cut off trousers. It was her tattered pair of gloves; one he had pulled off, one she had tossed in the forest. He brought them to his face. They smelled like seawater but were still incredibly soft. Soft like her. Looking over at the sun nearing the horizon, Logan got up and went in search of Marie. The sun was setting soon and he had lots to make up.
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000