And he was called War.

♔ Indie roleplay blog for movie!verse Erik Lehnsherr. All canon will be based upon the movies, unless otherwise stated/as comics become incorporated (at mun’s leisure if at all). For more info, please use the ‘about’ link to the right. I do not own this character or any images used unless otherwise stated (all icons used are made by mun). FC is Michael Fassbender, as per the movies. Mun and muse are both over the age of 18. Please note that I am not a German speaker, any conversation taking place in German will be done via translator. ← ↑ → Tracking #214782 Erik Lehnsherr. Metal manipulation. Stand back. M!A:

[scarletwitch]

#father and son bonding

[fcst]

                 “How’d you even find out? I didn’t —” Voice dropped, head shaking with a light scoff before he brought in a breath and those chocolate infused irides trailed back to the face of a man he didn’t really know. A face he wasn’t sure he’d ever actually recognize. Features of a father he’d NEVER known. Instead, all he saw was the news reports. The fear in his mother’s voice. The trail of disaster he always left behind him. “I mean…what makes you care so much? Y’think I’m lyin’? Think my mom’s makin’ it up?“

[2-1-4-7-8-2]

Erik’s patience slips, prematurely ( as ever ),  more anger in his rejoinder than he’d intended: “I care because you’re my --” With visible effort, he stops himself from going any further. He couldn’t let this go so poorly so quickly -- he couldn’t start saying things and laying claim to labels he hadn’t earned, no matter how painful what seemed like a rejection was proving to be. 

He decides to be, without the fiery tone, direct; directness is the closest thing to respect Erik knows how to offer. At least he would know, should this fail, that he should let Peter be. “I care because I’ve lost enough family, Peter. The only family I've ever known, in fact.” Twice. “I’m not here to beg the prizes of fatherhood which I haven’t earned. I’m here to ask you if there’s any type of relationship with me that you would want or accept.” 

[xmensource]

As nature intended. 

[2-1-4-7-8-2]

I might have totally missed it somewhere on your blog, but I was wondering what your thoughts on OCs was?

I’m totally okay with OCs; sometimes, though, it can be a bit hard for my character to connect with them if they aren’t x-men specific - in general people tend to assume their characters can bond with Erik based on Not Being Human but… that’s not really the case. Erik bonds with mutants. He’s not going to take up a different cause or necessarily be sympathetic to the plights of other ‘supernatural’ beings just because they aren’t humans; that being said, he does form relationships with human beings but usually born from specific intimate circumstances. It’s rare he connects enough to have a friendship grow with a complete stranger/non-mutant unless there is a purpose behind their beginning encounters.

edit: just an aside, though, I want to make it clear I think Tumblr is filled with incredible ocs. There are plenty of times Erik goes ‘meh’ at some ocs I’d love to interact with.

[natasharromanova]

Believe me, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have to. If we get you out of here, we do it my way. No killing.

[greensarrow]

[fcst]

            “I mean, it doesn’t matter now right? You know. We don’t have to like talk about it.” Anxiety gripped his frame, feet begging for the release of his natural speed. To get away from the situation. To leave the man’s STEELY gaze and avoid the conversation all together. That desperation remained the longer he stood, swaying from sole to sole, a v o i d i n g the older man’s features.

[2-1-4-7-8-2]

It matters to me. But that still doesn’t make it necessary. He can feel the young man humming with the energy to get away, and if that wasn’t enough, he looked supremely uncomfortable; Erik flounders for a moment. Perhaps this was a mistake, but Erik couldn’t forgive no attempt on his own part; after all his family blood spilt, he can’t walk away from someone who shares it. Not from a son of his, even if he feels like a stranger. “Not if you don’t want to. I’m not trying to waste your time, Peter.”

[ourgiftishope-blog]

@2-1-4-7-8-2 liked for a starter 

Charles wasn’t entirely sure where this conversation was going, although he could tell the other mutant was troubled. Could tell he came to him for more than simple board games. He didn’t have to be a mind reader to note the expression that seemed t be weighing down Erik’s lips, his face looked tired, and it was no guess as to why. The last couple weeks had been full of non stop building, rebuilding what was destroyed. But it was more than mansions that had fallen recently. 

Charles moved his bishop two spaces forwards, opening the path to obtain the other mutant’s queen. He was sure his adversary would notice the move, but the telepath wouldn’t care if he lost the game they played. He’d started playing to give Erik something to do with his hands. “Your move.” 

[2-1-4-7-8-2]

Erik’s mind is anywhere but the chessboard, despite his eyes boring into it; the school, his family, the young mutants he’s met here, his family, Charles, his family. It felt like a disrespect all it’s own to think of anything but them, and yet he had almost felt needed here for a little while... but as ever, staying still, finding a home among Charles’ friends and students, it all felt like a mismatch despite wishing it didn’t.

Erik blinks, trying to pull away from the path he’s wearing ragged into his mind, of more and more thoughts as the hours grew into night. He grows restless when it’s dark. “I saw that.” His lips lift slightly at the corners as he tries to insert himself back into the game, taking a careful but mostly defensive turn. It seems winning isn’t much on his mind for once, either.  Time for one of Erik’s stellar attempts at conversation: “Raven told me about Peter. Did you know?”

[whatisforgedinfire-deactivated2]

       “Du bist nicht ein Greis,” Anya laughs, naturally slipping  into German in her father’s company. It feels strange to speak in English with him, her father, who taught her to speak her first words in a different tongue. No matter, it’s good practice, and her English is very poor. She stands and follows him into the kitchen, despite being able to see him perfectly well from where she has been sitting. 

“It smells good,” She assures him, smiling  as she leans against the counter. “I miss mama’s cooking.” She mutters and her smile turns sad. “But yours is the next best thing. 

[2-1-4-7-8-2]

German feels perfectly natural, and consequently he’d almost grown an aversion to it. It felt like home when he felt he had no home to go back to, and instead of keeping it close, he’d tried to banish it wherever possible rather than be reminded of his heart when it was inconvenient. It feels hard to justify having ever been that man when he’s around her, and yet all the more understandable... Seeing her now, the woman she had become, her death feels even more a crime that deserved vengeance, even if he somewhat selfishly believes it is his own personal miracle that she survived. She made him better, but had also once made him terrible with grief, and he had felt that shame every time his tongue had used the language of his family in their absence. His families. Using it again came slowly, shyly, but her ease with it acts as a coaxing method that his ragged soul can accept.

“So hoffe ich." 

After a few minutes, a smile never quite leaving his normally somber face, he offers her the spoon he’s cooking with, a bit of the hash he’s making on the end. “Taste. Mehr Pfeffer?”

[2-1-4-7-8-2]

-signs on- -immediately rants at someones inbox about Dadneto before ive checked even a single notification-

[whatisforgedinfire-deactivated2]

      “I do too,” Anya protests, knowing she doesn’t. But she wants her father to think she is strong and capable. Even if she is neither, he makes her want to be, so that she can be more like him. 

      “But you can if you want to, papa.” She smiles as she looks up at him, “I suppose I am a bit hungry.” 

[2-1-4-7-8-2]

Erik gives her a skeptical smile. Stubborn. He will insist ( and often does ) that it’s a trait solely inherited from her mother, when in and of itself his insistence is evidence she inherited it from them both. 

“I do,” he rejoins, standing to make for his ( their ) kitchen, in which he is still quite visible from where she sits. He’s gathering things he wants to use on the counter as he speaks, a few potatoes, more than one kind of sausage, fresh bread... He’s made a reputation as little more than a recluse since he came to this small town, and yet the surprised and welcoming faces of the venders this morning at the local market seem to have considerably buoyed his spirits. ( My daughter is home, he’d told them. How wonderful, they’d replied. ) The positivity stoked the quiet hope he was nurturing about the new life he and his daughter might now share, reunited. “Now I may not be as good a cook as your mother was... but give ein Greis a chance."

[pietromaxim]

// I just saw a tag on a fic on ao3 that was like “let’s face it Erik probably hits his kids” and have we been watching the same films????

[2-1-4-7-8-2]

what the fuck. what the fuck.

[shxriffwoody-deactivated2014071]

Anonymously tell me what you think of my character portrayal.

[harlemlullaby]

   She should know something is wrong by the way he sounds. She should know that he’s acting, he’s enacting his own plan because of the calm in his voice. When he’d been so earnest and adamant only moments before.

   But she doesn’t. She only thinks she’s won the argument, that the window shattering is a sign she’s convinced him to move outside the blast radius and contain from the exterior. To shield others in the event she cannot stop the explosion herself.

   It’s when he says I love you that she stops. Just for a second. Because then she’s moving under his power. Before she can do more than gasp, she’s out of the building, there’s blue sky above her head, then gravel and solid tar under her body. She’s on a rooftop. He literally threw her out of the building.

   As soon as she has that thought, panic seizes her whole body. Gravel scatters everywhere as she scrambles to get up. To call out his name in nothing but pure fear and anger.

   “ ERIK!” 

[2-1-4-7-8-2]

It would have required far more effort to contain it and take it elsewhere than to contain it until the building was cleared; if he’s honest it was his intention all along, to let the destruction serve as an example to the onlooking human beings of what their bigoted brothers and sisters were capable of... even if he wanted to do differently, there wasn’t time to extricate the explosive without destroying one part of the building or another to do it.

With thousands of onlookers suddenly scattering, the top half of the building makes a sound like a portal opening to hell; in less than a second, every speck or chunk of rubble and ash is suspended, swirling with fire from the explosion inside a massive electromagnetic sphere. Erik is just on the other side of it, obscured from her view, waiting for the last of the mutants to flee the block - once they have, the hard part begins. The energy seems to consume itself, the sphere shrinking inward and giving it the very perplexing image of an explosion in reverse as the building collapses inwardly, and is finally reduced to a pile of burning ash and concrete. The entire scene probably only lasts two or three minutes, and not a single life was lost.

As though he’d been there the entire time, Erik’s feet touch down silently on the rooftop, behind her where she looking on. He knows she’s looking for him. Slowly, he releases the hold on her arm as he approaches. “...Kein Märtyrer noch.”

[fcst]

[fcst]

fcst:

            No, his mind is not for rent, to any God or government.                             Always hopeful yet discontent, he knows changes aren’t permanent.

                                             PETER MAXIMOFF( written by faith )

[harlemlullaby]

   Goddammit, she doesn’t have time for this. For him to break her concentration by saying her name–her full name, her first name–like that. For the feeling in her metal arm that could only be him. Him under her skin. In her head. In her trembling hands she has to make into fists because she has to do this. 

   “ Don’t you…” She can’t even finish the command, because she means it to be a command. Her throat squeezes tight and only through sheer force of will does she keep useless tears out of her eyes. A minute and ten. “ Don’t you ask me to do that. Don’t you ask me to just–just sit by and let you martyr yourself for your cause! This isn’t about someone oppressing mutants! This is about a lethal explosion and stopping it from happening! I won’t leave you to do this! You get the hell out!”

   She won’t argue with him a second long. Seconds they don’t have but she intends to make sure he has. Erik is logical. He’ll understand that the most cost effective use of his power is to shield others, not waste time trying to separate her from the bomb he may or may not be able to handle. He won’t listen to reason, so she’ll force his hand.

[2-1-4-7-8-2]

Sohn von einem Weibchen. He knew from the start she wasn’t going to listen to him, and while it was one of his favorite traits in her in any other instance, he was now growing visibly distressed by her protestations. He couldn’t afford to be losing focus to the fear for her safety when he needed his concentration to contain what could potentially be a massive blast.

He thinks about addressing everything she has just said, but he’s losing time too quickly; his mind picks out the most important bits before he shatters out a window behind her by warping the frame, knowing he has to distract her while he does what comes next with words: “This isn’t about my cause, this is about you. I love you...” Don’t be angry with me.

With a final look of apology, he sends her flying out the open window, toward an adjacent rooftop several hundred yards away; she can attempt to fly back if she wants, but he will be holding her there mercilessly.

[2-1-4-7-8-2]

"MAGNETO LOOKS LIKE A COLOR BLIND DILDO MORE AT 11!"