Since it’s May and it’s Love Up Fic Writers Month, Wednesdays are dedicated to reccing some writers that fandom often overlooks. Because there are some absolutely splendid but a bit under-ground writers that need to be appreciated for their genius too!
One of these writers is systic, or septicwheelbarrow at AO3!
With a sensitive, emotive style she wields her words like a sword that is meant to cut you right where it hurts the most (but you still keep coming back for more). Every word is carefully chosen to strike just the right chord within you, so while her fics are often sparse in language, they are some of the richest I’ve read. Even though most of everything happens in that which isn’t said. Yet, she never becomes pretentious or over-bearing. She has a grip and understanding of both Erik but Charles especially that I can only dream of having, and she knows exactly how to play on this strength in her all of her fics. It’s simply glorious, so go give her some love!
Two of her best fics (according to nextra):
Invisible Monsters and Untouchable Men (M, 6k)
In which Charles is a NYPD Detective who reads minds and Erik is the ghost who follows him around.
--
The man kneeling above him was frowning, brows furrowed, eyes uncannily bright. The way he stared at Charles sent chills up his spine.
Charles shivered. “So you are here,” he whispered. The noise in his mind had resumed, but this time it was a single wordless voice, which could belong to no other person but the stranger before him. Darkness, though muted, still lurked at the edges, and Charles carefully turned away from it.
“I am,” the man said with a nod. “My name is Erik Lehnsherr.”
“I know,” Charles replied, and to his amazement, it was not untrue. “I read your mind.”
Notes: A beautiful and haunting fic which makes you feel empty despite its relatively nice ending. Here systic’s strength in telling stories in the empty spaces really comes to life, something which brings a translucent and dark-veiled feeling to the fic.
"I'm Charles Xavier," he says, smiling from ear to ear. Then he gestures to his wheelchair. "Terminal spinal osteoblastoma, reaper due to collect in a year."
After some time, the man gestures at himself with a sardonic smile. "Same, one year. Lung." And then, reluctant, as if trying to keep his name to himself, "Erik."
I reject your reality and substitute my own. Doesn't really work that way, both ways.
Notes: I have read this fic so many times. Every time, it makes me cry. Full of beautiful similes and honest observations about life and death and what determines a life’s worth without ever being clichéd. Also, the way Charles makes Erik break through his bitterness is simply the lovliest thing of all.
