writing fanfic in which Gambit is not a douche
is making me feel a lot better about part four of off-balance, which is sitting accusatorially open on my desktop.
Honestly, very few things give me more warm fuzzy feelings than Gambit/Rogue. I have ALL the feelings for that pairing. ALL THE FEELINGS. Guys, why are you so adorable and hot, please stop, I am trying to write Erik's badass emotional turmoil and you keep taking over with your flirting and your deliciousness.
Also, writing nuclear winter fic when you have a hot water bottle and two jumpers is the best feeling in the world, and I wish to share it with you. FIRST DRAFT PREVIEW TIME YAAAAAY.
They camp under a railway bridge and Alex goes in first, sets a bush afire with a burst of energy.
They don’t know how much longer it’s going to last, that circle of control upon his chest. Hank estimates maybe a year at most; then they’ll come flying out again. Alex knows, without anyone having to say a word, that this will mean he must leave the group or kill them all. Erik knows too, and he spends too much of every day trying to think of a way to defeat this certainty.
“Spam,” says Hank.
Sean shakes his head vehemently. “We didn’t just hit the jackpot to eat spam. Let’s have noodles or something.”
“Alright, then you can go and melt enough snow.”
Charles silences the bickering by reaching into his rucksack and pulling out something wrapped in silver foil and glossy brown paper. The packet is grubby, but unmistakeably a Hershey’s chocolate bar.
“Fucking hell,” Sean says, staring at it.
“Sean,” says Charles, disapprovingly, “don’t swear, please.”
It could be worse. I could be updating the Bridget Jones crossover. (Don't ask.)
Honestly, very few things give me more warm fuzzy feelings than Gambit/Rogue. I have ALL the feelings for that pairing. ALL THE FEELINGS. Guys, why are you so adorable and hot, please stop, I am trying to write Erik's badass emotional turmoil and you keep taking over with your flirting and your deliciousness.
Also, writing nuclear winter fic when you have a hot water bottle and two jumpers is the best feeling in the world, and I wish to share it with you. FIRST DRAFT PREVIEW TIME YAAAAAY.
They camp under a railway bridge and Alex goes in first, sets a bush afire with a burst of energy.
They don’t know how much longer it’s going to last, that circle of control upon his chest. Hank estimates maybe a year at most; then they’ll come flying out again. Alex knows, without anyone having to say a word, that this will mean he must leave the group or kill them all. Erik knows too, and he spends too much of every day trying to think of a way to defeat this certainty.
“Spam,” says Hank.
Sean shakes his head vehemently. “We didn’t just hit the jackpot to eat spam. Let’s have noodles or something.”
“Alright, then you can go and melt enough snow.”
Charles silences the bickering by reaching into his rucksack and pulling out something wrapped in silver foil and glossy brown paper. The packet is grubby, but unmistakeably a Hershey’s chocolate bar.
“Fucking hell,” Sean says, staring at it.
“Sean,” says Charles, disapprovingly, “don’t swear, please.”
It could be worse. I could be updating the Bridget Jones crossover. (Don't ask.)