round 3 overflow post

[starkmodistries.livejournal.com]

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...

Comments

FILL: Everyday Love in Stockholm 164/? TW: CHARACTER DEATH

[tahariel.livejournal.com]

“Considering they were firing long-range missiles at me at the time, I would consider this to be a reasonable response,” Magneto replies dryly, and earns a few chuckles, at least, from the people in the room. “If the Europeans would like to open talks with me I would be happy to let bygones be bygones. Two years after the Month of the Atom, the world as a whole will be stronger if we work together than if we stand apart. I will not be the one to draw that line.”

“Aren’t you European yourself?” someone else asks, hidden in the middle of the crowd.

Magneto spreads his hands wide, cape falling dramatically as a backdrop behind him, and looks into the camera instead of at the press pool. “I am a mutant. The Nazis took my nationality from me long ago.”



LXV

Charles wanders into the second bedroom just as Erik is inspecting the hem of his cape to make sure all of the metal weighting is firmly attached where it cannot easily be seen, his tunic and trousers laid out across the bare mattress along with his helmet and gloves, the fabric of each splayed out like an animal for dissection. The weight in the cape gives it the mass and momentum to sweep more impressively, and is also a ready hand of metal should he need it; along with the flat, malleable sheets of steel in the pockets of the tunic and pins in the high collar, it gives him a small but versatile arsenal should he need it, one he is determined to have ready before the AMC delegates arrive tomorrow.

“What are you doing?” Charles asks, perching on the edge of the bed by the headboard, out of the way, and watching as Erik picks up his left boot, turning it over to check the tread for wear.

“Preparing for trouble.” The sole is a little worn, but still good; it won’t pose a problem, and there are iron nails holding it to the leather of the boot, if he should come up short. The light in here has no lampshade on it, and it makes the light stark, unforgiving; it glints from the nails, shows every crack and scuff on the leather of the boot. “Sunfire is notoriously hotheaded - the irony in that does not escape me - and I won’t trust him further than I can throw him until we have more of a read on his intentions. Just because he started something similar to what we’ve built here does not make him a friend. And we know little or nothing of the others he is bringing with him.”

Charles shifts to draw his legs up onto the bed and sits tailor-fashion, resting his elbows on his knees and propping his head on the heel of his palm. His fingers toy with the hem of Erik’s tunic, rubbing the heavy fabric back and forth with an almost-inaudible susurration, a quiet hiss of friction. “Surely they wouldn’t ask politely to come visit if they were planning on turning on you. It sounds more like a regular tea party than the Boston Tea Party to me.”

“Still.” The second boot is alright too, if a little more worn - he must be tending to lean his weight to the right. Erik makes a mental note to correct his posture from now on. “Better prepared than not. Nobody ever died of overpreparation.”

“I don’t know about that, you haven’t tasted Raven’s cooking.”

Erik laughs and the tension breaks, some of his nervous energy bleeding away as he glances at Charles fondly, shaking his head and letting the boot fall the the mattress beside the rest of it. “Then I am suddenly very glad the two of you aren’t blood relations.”

“I’m not,” Charles says in a voice that is almost sharp, and gets up from the bed, jerking his head towards the corridor. “Come on. There’s nothing you can do about it until they arrive, anyway. You’re already loaded for bear.”