November 16th, 2012

xmen: erik&charles6 poster


Good morning, all! Another week, another bit further behind on NaNoWriMo, but it's time for the Friday boost for the chatroom so not everything's bad! Just open the room up if you get there before me and have fun! :D

I think some folks are thinking that the chat is only open on Fridays – it isn't, though that's when it gets advertised/hosted for largely traditional reasons dating back to when kaitlia777 started the first community chatroom last year. Seriously, if anybody wants to use it at any time, go for it. If there's nobody else there, wait a bit and someone else may well show up (I generally have the chat up in the background if I'm online).

From a web browser, go to:, enter your preferred nickname and go to channel #xmfc_chat

If you prefer to set up a channel in a chat client, the server is, no password; just point it (via "join a chat" or equivalent) at the channel as above and you should find us!
bigbangsheldon amy farrah fowler

FIC: lord what fools these mortals be 1/3 (WIP, XMFC/Dollhouse crossover)

Title: lord what fools these mortals be

Pairings/Characters: Erik/Charles, Topher Brink, Ivy, Adelle DeWitt, Laurence Dominic

Rating: PG-13 for this chapter

Warnings: None for this chapter.

Word count: approx. 1735.

Summary: The Dollhouse is a scuzzy dirty unethical cesspit.  Topher fits in pretty well.  And it's just the kind of place Charles needs to get the job done.

Disclaimer: I do not own nor make any claim in any respect regarding the film X-Men First Class or the TV show Dollhouse or any aspect or character thereof. No profits, no lawsuits.

A/N: Dollhouse characters and timeline smooshed up to be congruent with post-beach XMFC.  It's around 1965.  Topher has facial hair and a special secret corner in the chem lab.

One for lachatblanche, in tribute to her lovely Dollhouse AU, and services to Dollhouseness!  (And XMFC!)  Dammit, is this another WIP?  How did that happen?

    just a tad later

Charles lay in bed and considered getting up for a drink of water from the jug and glass, on the cabinet by the bed. The trouble was, it was a big bed, and this would involve a lot of heaving himself up and dragging himself around. He allowed himself a sigh at the complexity and just – work – of every little thing, now.

The shoulder he was pillowed on rose and fell in rhythm with his sigh, and a hand mangled his hair, not gentle, but somehow tender anyway. 'What is it?'

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