Anonymous said: (1/2) I have loved you and your writing since like 2006. I still re-read your stories, even the ones for fandoms that I left a loooong time ago (looking at you Naruto). I remember the BSG days, that Zack Addy one shot, the Padma Patil/George Weasley fic, the most perfect Pirates of the Caribbean story ever, etc. but I also love your newer stuff - Inception, X-Men, MCU.
(2/2) If you’re up for it, I would honestly love another Inception or X-Men story. You’re so good at writing all the characters in those movies, and you capture their relationships really well. Basically, you’re amazing and everything you write makes me happy :) I hope everything is going well in your life!
Well, I just got sideswiped by a sudden fuckton of feelings about Zack Addy, THANKS A BUNCH, ANON.
(Seriously, thank you, it means so much to me that readers have stuck with me through the vagaries of my notoriously short fandom attention span <3)
I actually haven’t ruled out writing something more for Inception, because it’s one of those fandoms that got its claws properly into my imagination. The story that I never wrote but still think about is one that weatherfront tried to get me to write, about war poetry used as weapon in the dreamscape, and I might still write that one after my next reread of the Regeneration trilogy, when my intense feelings about WWI poets and the relationships between trauma and poetry and mental health have been replenished.
As for X-Men, hmm. I actually have 3000 words of an OT3-ish sequel to my Raven fic sitting in an abandoned document; it was going to be a story in which the rate of mutation becomes exponential and it becomes clear that mutants will eventually outnumber humans, and a story about Charles and Erik carefully coming to terms with their histories. Here’s a bit of it:
"Just — be quiet, Charles," she says. The ache in her throat rubs itself against his name and she looks again at Erik’s hands. One of his thumbs is moving ceaselessly over the other. "It’s a good offer."
Cold of her, when she could have said: it’s an exit. It’s a sword through a knot that’s been tightening around them all for years. It’s the bravest new world that’s likely to offer itself to them without the warm-metal smell of blood. But nobody in this room has much faith left in easy solutions.
Erik is quiet. He looks back at Charles and it’s almost unnatural how still his gaze is, the steadiness with which it fails to descend from Charles’s face. Charles shifts in his wheelchair, the tendons standing out on the back of his hands.
"Shall I tell you what you’re thinking?" he says.
There’s a moment in which Erik doubts the weight of the metal on his own head, and another in which he suspects Charles’s telepathy of having strengthened and surpassed his barriers. Raven can read those moments as easily as if she were the one with the power, the shortcut, but there’s this about knowing the body language of the people you love: it’s nothing a helmet can block out.
Erik laughs. It’s one of the good laughs. Raven exhales through parted lips and has to put aside the urge to look around for Angel so that they can raise their eyebrows at one another.
"No, thank you," says Erik. "And what’s your plan for us, Charles, in this peace of yours? I’m sure you have one."
"Well, I’d hoped — that is, the two of you —" Discomfort settles lines into Charles’s face with an ease that bespeaks history, but they’re soon gone. He lifts his chin. The echo of those lines makes him look older, firmer, a man of authority. "I wouldn’t presume to dictate," he says.
"Don’t be so modest, Professor," Erik says, "of course you would."