X-Men Reverse Bang: This Harbour (that we call home)
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Nekosmuse wrote the fic for this, and both she and the fic are absolutely incredible. (Go read the fic, then go read everything else she's written.) She's been so awesome, and such a pleasure to work with, and so open to ideas. Also, she does a very good job of pretending I'm not creepy when I'm doing the internet equivalent of drooling on her shoes.
The first four pages are the prompt. I wanted something that started with the situation offered by The Decemberists' song and the folk tale The Crane Wife, but I wanted a happy ending, and none of the weaving or the whole husband-being-a-greedy-bastard aspect. The rest of the images were inspired by the fic. What she came up with fit the bill perfectly, and has the same flavour as that whole Decemberists album, and is just fantastic. I love the world they inhabit. (And I can't stop seeing crane resemblances when I see pictures of James McAvoy now.)
(click images for larger version.)
It was a cold night and the snow lay 'round
I pulled my coat tight against the falling down
It was a white crane, it was a helpless thing
upon a red stain, with an arrow in its wing
Now I helped him, now I dressed his wounds
And now I held him beneath the rising moon
And all the stars were crashing 'round as I laid eyes on what I'd found.
There's a bite to the air that suggests the rain might turn to sleet later. Certainly the wind makes it feel colder than it actually is. It catches Erik's poncho, fluttering it around his legs.
Erik blinks, takes in the soft smile of the man peering at Erik over the covers, his skin bathed in soft light. Erik's brain struggles to catch up with the situation.
It does a second later, panic surging in his chest, rage colouring his vision as he surges forward, catching the man around the throat and throwing him back; pinning him to the mattress.
Soft light from the unshuttered window filters into the cabin; the rain having let up, the sky growing bright despite the continued absence of sun. Charles is caught in it, looking strangely ethereal, perched on the trunk like he's still a bird, Erik his keeper.
He punctuates the statement with a brief kiss to Erik's lips--their first--Erik chasing the sensation when it slips away so that what was no doubt meant as a brief peck turns into a heated exchange.
