ext_24077: (vm moxie)
[identity profile] chickpea.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] rec50
BIG DAMN TABLE.

Claim: X-Men Movieverse, Rogue
Title: "Blind Alley"
Author: JJBlazer at Blazeplace and [livejournal.com profile] jjblazer.
Characters: Wolverine/Rogue
Prompt: 45. Trapped
Rating: PG
Length: short
Brief summary: Well. They're on the run and trapped, and definitely not in a sexy way. I like that the ending is implied and drops off before the actual action. Somehow, the unspoken nature of it makes it sadder. I hate sadder, except sometimes I don't, like here.

He stepped closer to look her over carefully. Though obviously exhausted, physically she was in one piece. He doubted the rest of her had fared as well.

Marie placed a gloved hand on his chest, assuring herself that he was indeed real. She had dreamed silly girlish dreams of him returning here. None of them quite like this. “Take me with you?”

“That’s why I’m here, baby.”


Link to the story: Blind Alley




Claim: X-Men Movieverse, Rogue
Title: "Las Bas: Song of the Drowned"
Author: darkstar at Below the Moon
Characters: Wolverine, Rogue, Scott (Cyclops), Jean Grey
Prompt: 46. Reccer's Choice
Rating: PG-13 to R
Length: long, epic
Brief summary: This story is so incredibly depressing, I can't believe I, of all people, made it through the entire thing and am recommending it. But it's just that good and beautiful and sad and lyrical. Scott, Jean, and Rogue join up with a cult-type mutant group after the Mutant Registration Act passes, and Wolverine gets separated from them. The best thing about this story is Scott, even though the Wolverine/Rogue is damn good, too. This is the story that actually got me interested in Scott Summers, his motivations and actions and backstory. It's very long, but completely worth it.

The lace falls over our faces, smothering us with the scent
of incense and jasmine. Everyone bows their head to accept
the veil. Everyone submits. Even Jean, and even me, though I
would like to say I did not. My dresser tugs a pair of white
cotton gloves onto my arms, sheathing my skin in protective
cotton from fingertips to elbows. Ironic. I am the exception,
even here, when we are all supposedly equal at the genes. An
urge to laugh pulls at the back of my throat, but it is bitter like
semi-sweet chocolate. That is the taste of all laughter here.
That is, for those of us who still indulge.

They press flowers into our clasped hands, a single white
carnation. Then they whisper to us again, squinting out of the
wrinkles at the corner of their eyes.

(Think of it like a wedding. Think how you all will make
such beautiful brides.)

Jean told me this is a lie. She had a real wedding, two
springs ago, in a little stone church in the country. There were
candles in the windows and pink roses in her hair, and Logan
kissed me in the back of the sanctuary when everyone else
went outside for the reception. Does he even remember that
now? Wherever he is, whomever he's with?
I do.


Links to the story:
Las Bas: Song of the Drowned
Part One
Part Two
Part Three