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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 178/?
This week on Amazing People Who Are Incredibly Talented And Make Me Claw At My Own Face In Excited Gratitude: the ever-lovely
The folder is on his desk when he goes into the office the next day, precisely aligned with the edge of the tabletop and innocuous in its simple cream cover, unlabelled.
It doesn’t have to be. Magneto knows who it’s from, and he scowls the moment he sees it, Rogue’s runthrough of his schedule momentarily forgotten. “When did she leave it here?” he asks, interrupting his assistant without waiting for her to come to a natural stop.
Rogue pauses mid-sentence, taken aback, her mouth falling open for a moment before she recovers the clipboard where it’s drooped in her grip, threatening to slip. “What? Oh, the camp dispersal plan? Yesterday afternoon, ah think. ‘Bout four o’clock? Shadowcat dropped it off, said Ms Frost wanted you to have it asap.” Her feet shuffle on the carpeted floor, and she pushes the long, white lock of her hair back behind her ear with tentative fingers, a nervous gesture she’s never quite trained herself out of, though he’s suggested it to her once or twice. “Ah had a readthrough, like ah usually do, and… are you really thinking about doing it? Letting them go?”
It’s only with an effort of will that he doesn’t stomp around his desk to the far side where his chair is, unwilling to act like an angered child even if Emma would dearly like to paint him as one. The folder is just as clean and crisply perfect up close as it had looked from far away, not a mark to stain its gleaming cover. It’s as good as a fingerprint. None of the people bustling around in the outer office would have left it like this, though one or two of them are glancing in at him now, curious. “I have to consider every idea put to me,” he says, masking his distaste as well as he can. “Whether or not I follow through is another matter entirely.”
When he sits down the folder is centred precisely between his hands where they rest on the cool metal of the desk. Mein Gott, Emma must have briefed the girl for ten minutes just on how to leave the damn thing, to make him as exasperated as possible. On impulse he stretches out his index finger and knocks the damn thing askew, so it sits at an angle, no longer perfect. Much better.
“But do you think you will?” Rogue persists, and does not back down when he looks up at her, that little rosebud of a mouth pursed up in determination and not at all scared of him. Give her another five years, he thinks, and she’ll be a formidable asset. Some day she might fill Emma’s shoes, or his own. “Come on, you can’t lie t’me and tell me you like it, Magneto. Ah know you too well.”
“Did you turn blue when I wasn’t looking?” He scowls at her, but they both know he’s not really angry with Rogue. “No? Then get out of my office and let me work.”
The girl gives him a wry look, clearly more amused than intimidated. “Yessir, nossir, three bags full sir,” she says smartly back with a snappy salute, and spins on her heel, marching out of the room stiff-limbed and deliberate, like a wind-up soldier. “Let me know when you want t’know the rest of your schedule, sir.”
His mouth quirks into a smile despite himself, and he hides it behind his hand until he can straighten it out, aiming for neutrality. “Get back in here.”
“Yessir,” and she comes back in, looking smug.
“And stop the impertinence while it’s still cute.”
“Nossir.”