Stories by RogueStar
Gambit finds his way back to the Mansion ... and asks for a retrial.
Rogue and Gambit both suffer through reminders that neither of them can escape
their pasts. (Unfinished.)
"Blowing in the Wind"
In honor of the Gambit Guild's "Gambit Day," RogueStar writes a story of reconciliation and hope for Rogue and Gambit.
"The Briar Patch"
A dark, thorny look at how Rogue might internally view her powers. Takes place
after Rogue's emergence from the Siege Perilous.
A series of holiday-themed stories about personal despair and choices
for the future, featuring Siryn, Rogue, Gambit and Marrow.
A series of three stories written as a gift for the mailing lists Southern Comfort and Gambit Guild.
- featuring Gambit and Bebete (the green mist lady)
"Gold" - featuring Cyclops and Phoenix
"Myrrh" - featuring Rogue, Gambit and Nightcrawler
"Demain des l'aube"
Rogue mourns the death of her mother and plans to pass Raven's teachings on to her own unborn child.
"The Eighth Color of the Rainbow"
After his "death" at the end of the Magneto War, Joseph makes one last trip to Salem Center to say a very special goodbye.
In a pocket universe where Rogue stayed in the service of her foster mother Mystique, Rogue becomes known as the woman who killed Magneto. (Unfinished.)
"For My Daughter"
A woman in Mississippi writes a long-overdue letter to her daughter.
Rogue and Gambit think back to when they once decided to break up for good -- and laugh at their younger selves' naivete. Written in response to the recent X-book writing/editorial decision to break them up.
Just before Rogue and Remy are set to leave for their honeymoon, Rogue finally reveals the real reasons she's so uneasy about being with him. A response to Rogue and Gambit's rumored break-up in Gambit #16.
"The Horse of Another
Magnus, the Mage, demands a tithe from a small town every month. This time,
he wants the townspeople to deliver Rogue as his tribute, or else find for him
the mythical horse of a different color. (Unfinished. In revision.)
"The Sword and the Rose"
Sabrina and Remy LeBeau settle into their new roles as husband and wife as they
train and prepare to defend themselves in a world that has become even more
Rogue asks Gambit to accept the real her. A response to "All's
Fair..." by R.V. Bemis.
Rogue and Gambit make their piece and decide to get back together. In response
to Gambit #16.
In a different world, Mystique had early ties to the Thieves Guild and sent
Rogue to New Orleans to study the arts of thievery.
Gambit offers Jean a small comfort as she grieves over Cyclops' apparent death.
Inspired by UXM #386.
As Rogue lay dying, probably of the Legacy Virus, Gambit fulfills her final wish: one last dance.
"The Magician and the Butterfly"
Sabine Robbins leaves her settled life with Cody as a farmer's wife and runs away with a circus magician. Told from mulitple perspectives.
"A Matter of
When Soldier Alpha escapes the project and joins the rebels, it is up to a Black
Striper to bring her to justice. Unfinished.
Rogue stares at her reflection in the mirror and evaluates what she is -- and
isn't. X-Men: Evolution universe.
Queen and the Hunter"
Barely more than a child when she married Magnus, Rogue quietly defers to her
husband, then feels the urge to rebel. Age of Apocalypse.
to the Rooftop"
As they settle into their new roles as leaders of the X-Men, Rogue and Gambit
try to settle into another role as well: platonic friends.
(with Keri Wilson)
After their wedding, Rogue and Gambit record a farewell message of sorts
for Sehkmet Conoway. Sillyfic.
Sim Salem Project
An ongoing series of stories in which Rogue and Gambit are living a happy
suburban life with their precocious son, Luc.
"The Cherry Cookie Incident"
"The Sphinx's Question"
"Gotta Learn Them All"
"Saturday Morning in Salem Center"
"The Cabbage Patch"
Centering on the relationship between Rogue and Remy and on the growing human
intolerance of mutants, this story begins (in terms of "normal" continuity)
just before Bishop joins the team and ends just after LegionQuest.
When Mercy LeBeau comes to deliver some news to Gambit, she falls in lust with Iceman and chaos ensues. (Unfinished.)
After coming back home to the X-Mansion, many of the X-Men, including Rogue and Colossus, try to make peace with the ghosts in their lives. (Unfinished.)
(With Faith Barnett)
Just after the Trial of UXM 350, the various X-Men try to get on with their
in the Woods"
Banished to the woods after her disastrous encounter with Cody, Rogue is suspicious
when she meets a beautiful woman who wants to take care of her.
"A Window to Her Soul"
Colossus awakens and finds inspiration in Rogue's sleeping form.
elsewhere in Alykat's World:
"The Morning Paper"
Hank and Bobby miss seeing their favorite comic strip in the Sunday paper. A
tribute to Peanuts creator Charles Schulz.
(at (un)frozen and Stars & Garters)
Web sites: textualchemy, RogueStar's Galaxy, Caldecott,
in the House
Disclaimer: Consider this a fictive
parry to a mainstream thrust. Having heard something of the
nature of the Gambit #16 prologue - mysterious smile
- I penned this in response to a certain aspect of it with
which Marvel seems not to be dealing or considering. So, if
you see the validity of my view of Marvel's characters in
this non-profit piece or have just enjoyed the piece, do write
to me at email@example.com
A hundred strokes. That was how Raven had taught her to brush
her hair, running it through the heavy silk until it shone
with reflected light. It was a habit as old as restraint;
a discipline which Rogue instinctively clung to in times of
uncertainty and fear; the hairdresser's tai chi. White. Brown.
White. Brown. White. Brown. The repetitive motion usually
lulled her until she could accept what lay ahead of her, but
that night it was failing miserably. In irritation, she replaced
the silver comb on the dressing-table and examined herself
critically in the mirror.
Devoid of the make-up that had given her cheeks their blush
and lips their red that day, her face was unnaturally pale.
Large, green eyes looked back at her with an expression akin
to that of snared animal -- terror and resignation to an inevitable
fate. She forced herself to smile, hoping that the dark would
hide her trepidation. Tonight was meant to be the happiest
of her life -- Jean had assured her of that much with the
confident stupidity of a married woman as she had pressed
a bouquet on her, while Mystique had raised an eyebrow and
smirked. Even Ororo's lips had held a secret smile as they
had flipped through flimsy silks and chiffons in search of
the perfect trousseau.
Biting her lip, she concentrated on the hissing of the shower,
the broken snatches of obscure Cajun folksongs that emerged
from the bathroom. Remy did not share her fear, she knew,
was not aware of it. Throughout their relationship and engagement,
she had avoided situations that could lead to that level of
intimacy -- first through her powers, then fabricated, transparent
reasons. Although she realised it had hurt him on occasion,
had confirmed his worst suspicions of his own unworthiness
to be loved, she was scared that, if she capitulated, the
hitherto voiceless child inside of her would begin to scream
and never stop.
Rogue shivered, despite the warmth of the Mediterranean air,
pulling a linen robe over the thin, cream slip that she was
wearing. All she needed was some air, she berated herself,
because the hotel room was stuffy and that had always made
her feel morbid. Besides, she thought in a desperate attempt
at distraction, the scenery was beautiful. The sea a pool
of stars in the distance while a galaxy of city-lights stretched
into the horizon. Leaning on the balcony rail, caught between
universes, she fought the urge to fly into the night. It would
be so easy to do, so simple to slip into the darkness and
vanish. The damage that would do would be irreperable, though;
the crime unforgivable; her marriage unsalvagable.
The white noise of the water stopped suddenly and only the
music remained. Remy had graduated to a rousing chorus of
'Cottoneye Joe'. (1) She found herself
humming a few bars to herself. Where do you come from?
Where do you go? Her perpetual dilemma. The questions
which she could not hope to answer, because it would mean
accepting a part of herself that she had long since rejected.
The broken, scarred child from Caldecott who had been unable
to defend herself against harm. Who had been so wounded that
she still could not speak of what had occured, but mutely
watched and feared and knew from within Rogue's green eyes.
"Ah can't do this," she said softly to herself,
"Gawd, Ah love him, but Ah can't go in there an'..."
The door squeaked open from bathroom into the bedroom. She
surreptitiously glanced over her shoulder, hoping that he
would forget about her. That if she were still and quiet enough,
she'd melt into the background and he wouldn't see her. It
was not a strategy that had worked as a child, and it was
even less successful now. Ensconced in a crimson towel, Remy
grinned at her. In the manner of all old lovers, darkness
favoured him, tracing the lines of face and body with affection.
She suddenly realised she was still humming 'Cottoneye Joe'.
"Didn' know ya were a fan," the comment was off-hand.
She laughed nervously, "Backstreet Boys eat yo' hearts
out, 'cause y'all ain 't got nothin' on Remy leBeau."
Teasingly, "Where are de legions o' screamin' female
"Don't know," she replied lamely, knowing where
the badinage was leading, pulling the robe tighter around
her so the thin silk of her undergarment was completely hidden.
The silent child cringed within her in preparation for the
"I'm terribly disappointed, Rogue. Dat was ya cue t'say:
'Who needs masses o ' scantily clad women when ya have me',"
his eyebrows drew together and his lips curved in mock disapproval.
Bending over a suitcase, he packed away the charcoal suit
he had worn for the reception and folded the wine-colored
silk-shirt on top of it so that it did not crease. It was
a simple, domestic touch, but it frightened her beyond belief.
He must have seen some of the distress on her face, because
he said more gently: "I was kiddin'."
"Ah can't do this," she repeated as every muscle
in her body seemed to shake, her legs threatened to stop supporting
her and she grabbed desperately for the railing, "Ah'm
"Can' do what? Be a groupie?" he paused in the
middle of turning the bed down to reveal crisp, white sheets.
She looked away to the spangled sea in an attempt to calm
herself, then back to her husband. His expression was confused,
concerned -- he truly had no idea, she marvelled, nor could
she enlighten him. The child would not allow it.
"This," she gestured vaguely to the offending piece
He ran a hand through his hair, still seemingly perplexed,
"Ya powers are back?"
As she shook her head, she saw his look shift to one of pain
and stiff pride. The only reasonable explanation gone, he
believed her reticence had something to do with him. That,
despite their marriage, she didn't love him enough to commit
herself entirely to him. That he wasn't worth more than words.
"It ain't you either," she corrected quickly, "It's
just ... Gawd, Rem, Ah'm frightened."
He sat on the edge of their bed, evidently perturbed. Knowing
that the time was right to tell, that she would face the girl's
screaming with impunity rather than hurt the man she loved,
she joined him on the forest-green duvet, acutely aware of
the distance between them.
"It's natural, cherie, t'be scared."
"Not fo' mah reasons," her voice broke, "Which
is what Ah've been meanin' ta tell you foh a long time..."
Haltingly, she began her story, stopping when it became unbearable.
He listened intently, not speaking even when she was silent,
not attempting to bridge the gap between them with a hand.
His facial expression was eloquent, however, shifting between
pity, outrage and anger. Finally, when she had finished, she
looked to him for judgment or absolution. He stood, walking
to the balcony and leaning on the railing. It was the former
that made him unable to speak, she feared, that made him leave
her. He was disgusted by her, a heavy, sour dread nagged in
the pit of her stomach, would not want to touch someone so
filthy. Nervously, she ran her fingers through her hair, attempting
to steady herself in preparation for the inevitable.
"Ah'll go then."
Remy shook his head, the bar flared into incandescence under
"S'il te plait..." lapsing into Cajun in
the distress telegraphed so clearly by the roughness of his
normally silken accent, "Reste-y , cherie, though
I won' blame ya if ya decide t'leave. What was done t'ya was
... Dieu de dieu de dieu de..."
He was crying, she thought with something akin to tenderness
and consternation. He never cried, had told that tears accomplished
nothing and that it was better to act to solve the pain or
problem. Even she had not done so when telling him of what
had happened in Caldecott, although she had come close to
it. Her sorrow went beyond tears. She needed to comfort him
and, by doing so, comfort herself. Moving closer to him, she
slipped her arms around his waist, holding him until the fear
went and the silent child was able to laugh once more.
1) I call it Cottoneye Joe. I'm not sure what the real
name is. It's delightfully repetitive whatever it is. The
version I've heard which is more techno than zydeco goes:
'Where do you come from? Where do you go? Where do you come
from, Cottoneye Joe?' with guitar riffs in between ad nauseum.
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