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ficwizeQuick Driver's Note: This will be the last fic I recommend this month and I hope that everyone enjoyed reading the stories I suggested as much as I enjoyed suggesting them. *bows out*
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Fandom: X-MEN MOVIEVERSE
Pairing: Rogue centric, with mentions of Rogue/Bobby and Rogue/Logan
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
musamea
Author Website: A M O U S A
Why this must be read:
Sometimes you have to make a choice where you will forever regret the consequences, no matter what decision you make. This story takes Rogue's decision at the end of X-3 and examines it, giving it depth and heart and soul. It finds these attributes in Rogue as well, showing the readers a woman who is tired of just taking what life throws at her.
Rogue's decision, good or bad, is hers and she has to live with it, even when things don't go quite as planned.
musamea's writing is as gorgeous as ever and I was utterly entranced by this fic and found myself torn between admiration and jealousy for the writer, and empathy and appreciation for Rogue.
Read this one! I promise you won't be disappointed.
Author's Summary: Funerals are never the end of it. Neither are cures. Five scenes on what comes after.
Bobby takes her to see the memorials, cool fingers laced through hers, skin on skin. The air is already shifting toward fall, but she pushes her sleeves up anyway and savors every brush of vagrant breeze.
They stand in front of the marble markers for a long time, not speaking. She wants to ask him if they'd held a formal funeral for Scott and Jean. (The answer is no; Scott had no family remaining to demand one, and Jean's had arranged a quiet cremation. The entire school had turned out when the X-Men scattered the ashes over the lake two days after Alcatraz; everyone tried to pretend that they didn't need to see the remains of the Phoenix body drifting harmlessly away to sleep easier at night.)
She wants to ask what happened in her absence -- she'd seen Magneto shifting the Golden Gate Bridge on a television at the train station. The Erik in her mind had stirred at the sight. I will show you fear in a handful of dust, he'd whispered as her fellow commuters stopped in their tracks and stared, the buzz of human disbelief rising and falling like the tide. She'd clenched her fists at that, to resist reaching for fragments of metal with a power no longer hers, to keep herself from weeping at the knowledge that there were still some things that couldn't be cured.
She wants to ask what he's thinking, but suspects she won't like the answer. (She's right. He's thinking that he wants to ask why she left without talking to him first, why she hadn't trusted him -- to love her, to be careful enough, to give good advice. He wants to ask if taking the cure had hurt.)
It's easier to stand together silently, close, but not quite touching, long habit and recent events forming an invisible barrier between their bodies.
A Heap of Broken Images
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Fandom: X-MEN MOVIEVERSE
Pairing: Rogue centric, with mentions of Rogue/Bobby and Rogue/Logan
Author on LJ:
musameaAuthor Website: A M O U S A
Why this must be read:
Sometimes you have to make a choice where you will forever regret the consequences, no matter what decision you make. This story takes Rogue's decision at the end of X-3 and examines it, giving it depth and heart and soul. It finds these attributes in Rogue as well, showing the readers a woman who is tired of just taking what life throws at her.
Rogue's decision, good or bad, is hers and she has to live with it, even when things don't go quite as planned.
musamea's writing is as gorgeous as ever and I was utterly entranced by this fic and found myself torn between admiration and jealousy for the writer, and empathy and appreciation for Rogue.Read this one! I promise you won't be disappointed.
Author's Summary: Funerals are never the end of it. Neither are cures. Five scenes on what comes after.
Bobby takes her to see the memorials, cool fingers laced through hers, skin on skin. The air is already shifting toward fall, but she pushes her sleeves up anyway and savors every brush of vagrant breeze.
They stand in front of the marble markers for a long time, not speaking. She wants to ask him if they'd held a formal funeral for Scott and Jean. (The answer is no; Scott had no family remaining to demand one, and Jean's had arranged a quiet cremation. The entire school had turned out when the X-Men scattered the ashes over the lake two days after Alcatraz; everyone tried to pretend that they didn't need to see the remains of the Phoenix body drifting harmlessly away to sleep easier at night.)
She wants to ask what happened in her absence -- she'd seen Magneto shifting the Golden Gate Bridge on a television at the train station. The Erik in her mind had stirred at the sight. I will show you fear in a handful of dust, he'd whispered as her fellow commuters stopped in their tracks and stared, the buzz of human disbelief rising and falling like the tide. She'd clenched her fists at that, to resist reaching for fragments of metal with a power no longer hers, to keep herself from weeping at the knowledge that there were still some things that couldn't be cured.
She wants to ask what he's thinking, but suspects she won't like the answer. (She's right. He's thinking that he wants to ask why she left without talking to him first, why she hadn't trusted him -- to love her, to be careful enough, to give good advice. He wants to ask if taking the cure had hurt.)
It's easier to stand together silently, close, but not quite touching, long habit and recent events forming an invisible barrier between their bodies.
A Heap of Broken Images
