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xmenfirstkink2011-12-18 05:18 pm
starkmodistries.livejournal.com) wrote in xmenfirstkink2011-12-18 05:18 pm
Entry tags:
round 3 overflow post
This post is for Round 3 fills only. We ask that when a round hits 8500 comments, fillers begin moving their fills to this post.
Format:
SUBJECT LINE -- Round #, short description of fic (ex: "Alex/Hank, lab partners")
--- Link to the prompt
--- Text of the prompt
--- Link to the fill
OR
--- Entire text of the fill
EXAMPLE:
Prompt: http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/6437.html?thread=1038472#t2038174
Charles/Erik -- Charles is a bakery owner whose most frequent customer is Erik.
Fill: http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/6437.html?thread=0139482#t4502942
Charles started off the morning the same way he always did...
FILL: Everyday Love in Stockholm 162/? TW: CHARACTER DEATH
Normally I'm a fan of surprise but here is your warning for this update: character death this week. Writing this damn near broke me, so please let me know what you think.
McCoy is effusive over the work, taking it from Magneto with curious hands, immediately lighting up as he runs his eyes over the first page, reading faster than Magneto would have thought possible. “This is wonderful! Whose is this? I’d love to talk to - ”
“No,” Magneto says, and McCoy halts mid-flow, flinching as though he expects to be hit. “The source is above your paygrade. Just - see what you can do with it.” His tone makes it clear that further questions will be unwelcome.
The boy is silent for a long minute, looking back at the sheaf of papers in his hands. “What would you like me to do with it?” He glances up through those coke-bottle glasses to meet Magneto’s eyes for a moment before ducking his head again.
“What do you normally do with scientific data?” Magneto shakes his head, waves a hand dismissively. “Just - put it to use, McCoy. Let me know what comes of it.”
A nod. “Yes sir.”
He smiles, then, tries to be encouraging though inside he’s quivering from a nervous tension that McCoy might put two and two together, might be smart enough to work out where the papers have come from and follow a hypothesis through. “Good. I’ve heard good things about you from all over. Keep it up.”
“Oh!” The boy’s face is one of pleased astonishment, mouth twitching into a genuine, shy smile. “Thank you, sir. I’ll try.”
“See that you do,” Magneto says stiffly, and it’s a relief to leave, though whether or not he’s got away with it will have to wait and see. Charles, at least, should see some use of his work, even if he can’t follow it through himself.
Mystique goes back to work that month, too, once Kurt is old enough to sit on his own, propping himself up with one hand and drawing things to him with the other or with his tail. She comes up in the mornings, more often than not, and leaves him with Charles to accompany Magneto to his meetings. She is as sleek and sinuous as ever, not a hint of her motherhood remaining on her body save for the quieter curl of her smile at times, older somehow than before.
Some days she leaves Kurt upstairs, or with others, and vanishes for hours, off on some mission of her own which she does not always tell Magneto about, orchestrating her own comings and goings in any of a variety of skins. After so long an absence it’s taking her a while to work her way back into the resistance groups, earning their trust slowly as a new face.
“They’re still working on whatever it is,” she says one day in his office, silhouetted against the bright sky outside his window, watching the traffic scurrying about down below. “The rumble. And the fact they’re still working on it is worrying. I haven’t got deep enough to find out anything more yet. I’m working on it, but it’s going to take time. And I think they’re nearly ready.”
Magneto hums agreement, coming to join her and standing at the opposite side of the frame. On the street below there are protesters again, their signs too far away to read from here but surely of a theme with the past three months’ worth of complaining. “What can we do to get you in deeper on a faster timetable?”
She snorts, turning to glance at him with yellow eyes that catch the light for a moment like a cat’s, opaque and gleaming. “Let me assassinate you on live TV in my human mask and become a hero overnight?”
Despite himself, he smiles. “Perhaps not.” A speck of a human throws himself at the guards holding the perimeter and is tossed halfway back across the street for his trouble, bowling his fellows over like a felled tree, clearing a hole in the canopy that is instantly filled with new bodies, new heads. “Tell Emma you need her as a matter of urgency. She might have plenty else to do, but this takes priority. As soon as she’s able to tie off whatever she’s working on, she’s with you.”