M A G N E T O

There are no sides. There are no heroes or villians. There's just what I want and how I'll get it. BeginAgainHQ. Character status: Resurrected Private RP blog. DM for inquiries.

[masterofmagnetism]

risethedemxn​:

/

          Another heavy breath sank his shoulders further into the chair, blinking away his moment of confusion and curiosity. “Ah. I’m sure.” He nodded, almost forgetting his own cup in his frantic moment of hospitality, staring at the amber-tinted liquid just a second too long. “… Hers certainly are more potent than anything I could carve. She wields actual magic, I only hope to emulate it through what little of the craft I can work with.” A light chuckle seemed to signify calmed nerves, one sip of tea later brought him back to his right wits. 

          Jason’s eyes studied… But not for too long. He knew better than that, to stare and dig too deeply without cause. They’d barely spoken, he didn’t need to draw any suspicions of… Suspicion. “Still,” he sighed, looking back up towards the bookshelves. “Hers are not misplaced. I hope I don’t have to scold you for some misdeed.” Half of a joke, the only indication was the sly smile curling onto his lips. In truth, Jason had no room to judge. Hell, he would be damned if it wasn’t for the quite immortal curse. Whatever business anyone had, whatever scale of morality, couldn’t compare to what Etrigan had influenced in him… Or, perhaps, his self-made exile had gone on a thousand years too long. 

          Sulphur itched his throat, the flames warming the old room growing just a hair hotter as he realized the gravity of his own explanation. “… Old friend, don’t tell me you meant to attack her.” 

//

He’s used to the somewhat circuitous route his conversations with Blood tend to take--and he can hardly hold it against the man. Blood plays host to something otherworldly, after all, and Erik now knows first-hand just how complicated that relationship can be. 

( Does it say something, he wonders, that he needs more than one hand to count how many of his acquaintances and loved ones are not wholly themselves? How many of them share their body with another force? )

Erik would say something about Blood being far too humble, but in the scheme of things, he was right--the man was impressive, but Zatanna really was in an entirely different class of magic-user altogether. “Oh, I don’t know--there’s always something to scold me for. Par for the course in my line of work, I’m afraid.” 

Then the implications of crossing Zatanna’s wards seemed to click for his host, and the air in the room seemed to get warmer, a hint of egg smell brushing his senses. Ah. Yes, probably would’ve been better to clarify that early. “Of course not. I consider her a dear friend.” 

Not that that’s always, or even usually, stopped him before. 

“I was simply looking for her to have a conversation. Apparently last time I visited her stage area I attempted some reorganization and upset her assistant. To keep me out, Zee put up a ward and then forgot about it until she found me laid out on the floor. We had a laugh about it after, rest assured.” 

Erik takes a sip of his drink, settling back in his chair as the tension in the room eased with his explanation. “It’s been a while--how have you been? Your little jaunt with the Justice League treating you well?” he asks, managing to (mostly) keep his disdain for the team from his voice. 

[masterofmagnetism]

mistressxfmagnetism​:

Lorna glared at him half-heartedly, flicking a towel in his direction. “Remind me not to give you any when I actually make a good batch.” He was right, her current attempt was… dismal to say the least, but she wasn’t normally this bad. Distracted probably played into it. Not to mention an unfamiliar kitchen. It had been years since she’d properly stayed in this mansion and cooked here. They’d tended to supervise her more as a twelve year old.

“No, I know,” she said, her tone shifting. “I was just thinking.” She gave him a half-hearted smile now before looking away. The dirty tools floated over to the sink, arranging themselves beside it with an almost absent glow of Lorna’s hand. “About our family. And burning things down.”

//

He laughed, dodging the towel easily as he pouts at her from across the kitchen. “Taking pastries hostage now, are we? Future pastries, at that. A bold bargaining strategy.” They both knew that Lorna wouldn’t be able to hold out if and when she did actually make a good batch. ( More likely, he may be the proverbial guinea pig testing to make sure they were good. )

Erik turned the knobs of the sink with a thought as he reaches for the dish soap and sponge. Her words earned a little bit of a grimace, and Erik directed his attention back to the contents of the sink, very carefully shoving the immediate memories associated with family and fire back into their box. “I see.” He grabbed at one of the spatulas, scrubbing at it without looking over at Lorna. “Fire isn’t always a bad thing, you know.” 

[mistressxfmagnetism]

@masterofmagnetism​ said: “as a family, we’re going to burn this fucking house down.”

“Hey, I can cook. This isn’t a fair example.” Lorna scraped the burnt food into the bin, waving her hand to open the window and clear some of the smoke. “I got distracted, alright?” Really, she was a far better cook than she was a baker, but she’d tried her hand at it again after a training session at the mansion. Not her wisest choice perhaps, given how exhausting it seemed controlling her new powers were. Especially given how little she was sleeping these days. 

Despite her upbeat tone, however, she felt a pang of something darker inside. Maybe not through cooking, but between their family they did seem to cause a lot of chaos. She tried to keep the smile on her face, but with her back to Erik, she did glance around the kitchen of the mansion. If anything was going to bring this place down… Maybe her dad wasn’t so far from the truth. She couldn’t imagine any of them wanting that, but since when had that truly mattered? The universe found a way.

[masterofmagnetism]

//

“Everyone can cook,” Erik says sagely, smirking a bit at Lorna as he snatches a towel off the handle of the oven and begins fanning the smoke toward the open window. “Whether they should is a different story.” Only teasing, of course--he knew Lorna could cook well enough. But she could deal with a little bit of ribbing for turning what should have been golden latkes into shriveled black globs of fossilized potato. 

He can’t see her face, but he feels the change in mood from his daughter as assuredly as he would know his own, and his smile drops a bit as he steps closer. “You know I’m only teasing, sternchen. It happens to everyone. I once baked a challah so long it looked like I’d pulled it from Pompeii.”

[secretkittendetective]

X-Men: A Summary

[masterofmagnetism]

psicnic​:

.

Charles manages, somehow, not to roll his eyes at Erik’s description of himself. It isn’t untrue, but it still feels wrong, too specific of a label to be given to so complex of a man. “I have very long brooms to dust the chandeliers with,” he says, instead of addressing the comment. And then, because he has always been the type to think too much or not at all, he says, “I don’t want you to feel as if you have to earn your place back here. You’re not my housekeeper.” 

As soon as he says it, he wheels around so his back is to the man, pretending to rummage through his desk cabinet so he doesn’t have to watch Erik’s reaction. Nobody would ever describe him, Erik least of all, as someone careful with his own feelings, or even somebody that kept them hidden, but- the man opposite him now knows him so well. It’s impossible to not want to keep something under wraps, when Erik doesn’t even have to look at him to know how he’s feeling, even without the trick of telepathy. 

Not that his power is as simple as a ‘trick’, most fairly described as an ‘affliction’, truly, but the mood in the room is tentative, and that isn’t a mood most baselines can feel. Tentative, quiet, something that feels like a bridge from one stage to another. It tingles. 

He must consider his students before all else, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a part of him that wants to be selfish. It is the part of him that remembers the time before the beach, remembers any time before they all had so much responsibility. Erik has always had something, as long as Charles has known him, but he remembers when he himself was carefree. “I can talk to them.” The words are strong, no room for argument, “I will, if you want to stay here.” It’s an offer, a repeated one, “I want you to stay here.” It’s the most honest he’s been since Erik arrived. 

His eyes are focused on Erik’s face as he switches the kings between his fists, making no effort to try and follow the side he usually plays. “There’s a charm to losing, too, if you do it graciously enough,” he smiles, though he doesn’t expect either of them to be playing to lose. 

//

Charles turns away to look through his desk, which is probably a mercy for both of them as Erik bristles a bit at the words. It’s a polite rejection, as they go, phrased as a favor, but the point regardless seems to be that Erik can keep himself to the study and gardens. 

Except then perhaps not, because Charles is turning back to him and saying something Erik had never expected to hear again, certainly not with Cuba and a decade and the world between them. I want you stay.

The very words he’d hoped to hear an age ago in that agonizing moment on the beach when everything had fallen apart; words that are so close to his own rejected plea all those years ago, sand and shame and fear and love clogging his throat as he told Charles I want you by my side. We want the same thing.

( I love you. I’m sorry.

Of course, that wasn’t their style, the two of them. Never had been. The former had always seemed to go without saying, the two of them falling into orbit so easily, understanding teach other so readily that to actually say those words had seemed redundant. Inadequate. As for apologies, they were both far too confident in their decisions, and far too proud, to voice that sort of regret with any sort of reliability.)

I’m sorry my friend, but we do not.

That had been the end of it, right there. That one moment, and the silence that stretched for a century after it before Erik had finally forced himself to look away from Charles, to hand the man over to her and walk away from yet another family.  Ten years on, and Erik had found himself drawn back to the Xavier mansion again and again, no matter how hard he tried to force himself to move on. Somehow, he always ended up right back here, sooner or later--sitting in Charles’ study, shoving the past into boxes and burying them for the sake of a few moments of peace in each others’ presence. And now Charles was looking him in the eyes and asking him to stay in that tone of voice that Erik had never been able to resist. 

Some things never change.

( He pretends part of the reason he can’t even consider saying no isn’t because nowhere else feels anything like home. )

“Okay. Only because you asked so nicely,” he said, as if the telepath didn’t know better. Erik turns over the hand Charles indicates, to set the white king on the opposite side of the board, and pretends, too, that he hasn’t used sleight of hand to give the man his preferred opening colour for every game they’ve played in the last decade. 

He begins setting his own side of the board, and scoffs a bit at the man’s words, looking up to flash him a grin. “You’d best lose, then, hadn’t you? G-d knows you need all the charm you can get.” 

[risethedemxn]

CALL // @masterofmagnetism​ 

          It was rarer and rarer these days to find anyone who shared the same sentiments of eras going by in the blink of an eye. He was yet to meet an acquaintance that shared the entire length of time, but the few that he’d come across were welcomed into the curated library with open arms. Erik had been one of those few individuals, and one of the fewer that showed up frequently enough for Jason to care when he didn’t. 

          So his surprise when the old acquaintance walked through his door was not lost on him. Sure, he still hadn’t managed to fully understand the new methods of communication in the world (ink and paper was much more elegant, he would say), but a call would’ve been nice. He’d barely had time to put the kettle on before he was gesturing for him to sit by the fireplace, grab a book to keep him occupied for the few minutes the water would take to boil, do… Something while he came up with the right questions to ask. To pry would be… Out of uniform, out of character even… But the demon clawing at his chest seemed to disagree, to say there was more than could ever be asked, but Jason had grown far too used to ignoring the rhyming heathen’s calls.

          Besides, it would be rude to show up uninvited while a guest was there.

          “Apologies,” with a slight breath of a laugh, the haphazard tray settling with a few clatters on the low table between them, sitting back in his well-worn chair with a heavy breath.  “I had no idea I’d be entertaining guests today. I’ve… Truly, there’s been an influx of visitors ever since I stopped recharging the wards on the doorframe…”

[masterofmagnetism]

//

Jason Blood was one of the more intriguing characters Erik had added to his extensive list of acquaintances over the decades. Officially, the man was part of the Justice League, now, a fact which had made Erik a bit more leery in recent years of dropping by. He did not get on terribly well with hero teams, historically speaking, and the prospect of coming face to face with Superman or one of the others was not one he was particularly interested in--especially given his more recent history with the man’s cousin and son. No, thank you, Blood had been a particularly useful acquaintance back in his days with Mossad--the further up the Nazi chain one got, the more the occult bled their way into their beliefs. That was not Erik’s area of expertise, nor one he particularly wanted to dabble in. Jason Blood was an expert, if not the expert. 

He was also quite fun to be around, which had kept Erik coming to his doorstep even when his need for that particular sort of information began to wane. 

Showing up after over a year with no warning and after having paid a visit to the other side was probably not the best way to make his reappearance to the man, but then, he also wasn’t entirely certain Blood knew how a phone worked anyway. 

( It didn’t matter, regardless--Erik’s latest phone had been fried yesterday in an argument with a cabbie, and he hadn’t made time to go by the shop yet for a new one. ) He sat by the fireplace while the man got the tea ready and flipped idly through the closest book. Latin, of course. Something about portals, which Erik read with vague interest until his host returned with the tea tray and settled into the opposite chair.  “No apology necessary, please,” Erik brushed off as he reached for the offered teacup, a slightly chipped little thing that looked like it'd come from at least two centuries prior. “Perhaps it’s selfish to say, but I’m glad to hear it--I had the misfortune of setting off one of Zatanna’s wards a week or two ago. Not an experience I’m eager to repeat.” 

[lesbianralzarek]

"i could fix him" yeah? well i could accept him as he is. you don't like the murder? grow up. the atrocities are part of him and ive decided they're funny

[masterofmagnetism]

@psicnic​ @hulkout

[rraspberrry]

[masterofmagnetism]

hulkout​:

( ✉️ → ERIK ): Is this where I say “send nudes” but the cracks in my screen are basically a censor bar? ( ✉️ → ERIK ): Wait, is that actually an ability you have? Because that’s definitely something I need to study. I mean, not that I can really bleed out either, but you know, for other people. The super-people we work with that aren’t nearly indestrucible. ( ✉️ → ERIK ): Oh. You’re drinking. That makes more sense. Is this alone-drinking or enjoyment-drinking? ( … ) ( … ) ( ✉️ → ERIK ): Westchester, huh?

[ ✉ → BANNER ] suounds ike you need a new phone [ ✉ → BANNER ] i hvea to get a new one once a week  [ ✉ → BANNER ] i fry them [ ✉ → BANNER ] on accccident [...] [ ✉ → BANNER ] i think so? [ ✉ → BANNER ] i can find out! [ ✉ → BANNER ] standby [ ✉ → BANNER ] srot of a lone drniking? but not really [...] [...] [ ✉ → BANNER ] [unsent] im srtoy i just [ ✉ → BANNER ] yeah. for nwo [ ✉ → BANNER ] nowhrer feels like home 

[masterofmagnetism]

@mistressxfmagnetism​

[ ✉ →  ⭐ ] i dnot thnik i ever told you i asw sorry when ic ame back [ ✉ →  ⭐ ] im sorry i lied to you [ ✉ →  ⭐ ] and made you leave [ ✉ →  ⭐ ] and hid your memoreis [ ✉ →  ⭐ ] and didn’t come bring you home [ ✉ →  ⭐ ] and akmost killed ric [...] [ ✉ →  ⭐ ] i told him sorry already by the way [ ✉ →  ⭐ ] i dont think he wante d to gear it but he took mischa so [ ✉ →  ⭐ ] anyway [...] [ ✉ →  ⭐ ] i dont think we can bleed out [ ✉ →  ⭐ ] m dion an ezpiermt [ ✉ →  ⭐ ] exprerement [ ✉ →  ⭐ ] test

[masterofmagnetism]

hulkout​:

( ✉️ → ERIK ): You know I’m using a phone with a horrendously cracked screen, right? ( ✉️ → ERIK ): Are you bleeding out or something? ( ✉️ → ERIK ): And not to sound creepy, but where are you going? It’s not a scary-bad checking out, is it?

[ ✉ → BANNER ] thta makes it fun [ ✉ → BANNER ] not bleedin g out [ ✉ → BANNER ] i dont think i can bleed out [ ✉ → BANNER ] i cnz hold my blood in [ ✉ → BANNER ] becusae of the iron! [ ✉ → BANNER ] just drnnuk [...] [ ✉ → BANNER ] im inw estchester

[masterofmagnetism]

@hulkout

[ ✉ → BANNER ] [unsent] Wherhs sre you [ ✉ → BANNER ] [unsent] Are you at stareks  [ ✉ → BANNER ] i chcked ou t of the htoel [ ✉ → BANNER ] but ‘ll stili be comi ng to the city a loot [ ✉ → BANNER ] justy wanted to ley you know [ ✉ → BANNER ] lorna was anyoned i didn’t ell her because i for got

[masterofmagnetism]

@kxtepryde​

You’d think that the further north you went, the less intense the summer got--but in Erik’s experience, the entire East Coast was a bloody oven from June-October. Atlanta would almost have been preferable to the heat glaring down on the Battery; the park’s proximity to the hall of mirrors that was Manhattan meant that the sun wasn’t just glaring down from the sky above, but from a hundred other buildings all intent on roasting you alive. 

Maybe Logan had been onto something, going to Canada. 

Genosha gleams at him across the bay--or would, if he wasn’t doing his best to avoid looking in its direction for the time being. Instead, he’s settled in on a blanket beneath one of the towering trees on the western side of the park, a bag of pastries from Katz’s sitting waiting while he sipped at an iced coffee. 

No one seemed to be paying him any mind, which was fine by him--people still didn’t seem entirely certain whether the infamous Magneto was alive or dead. And they certainly didn’t expect to see him sitting under a tree in Battery Park sipping iced coffee like some hipster Brooklynite here to birdwatch or some such nonsense.  As if there were any birds here but pigeons and seagulls, both nasty little thieves. One of them, already absurdly fat, lands a few feet from the picnic blanket, and Erik glares at it behind his sunglasses. “Don’t even think about it. I will zap you.” 

[loveyouforl000years-deactivated]

I FELL ONTO LOVE LIKE A SWORD

yves olade // ada limon // franz kafka // richard siken // x // richard siken // jessa crispin

[masterofmagnetism]

​

[wolverinecore]

“I thought I was alone.” “You’re not alone, Erik.”

[mistressxfmagnetism]

[ ✉ →  @masterofmagnetism ]: you know when you move you’re meant to tell people right? [ ✉ →  Dad ]: [UNSENT] unless you don’t want to be found [ ✉ →  Dad ]: they said you’d checked out at the hotel [ ✉ →  Dad ]: [UNSENT] this doesn’t have anything to do with banner does it?

[masterofmagnetism]

[ ✉ →  ⭐ ] [unsent] shit [ ✉ →  ⭐ ] Moving sounds so formal.  [ ✉ →  ⭐ ] I was going to tell you--I didn’t think you’d try and drop by again today. I only just finished checking out this morning.  [ ✉ →  ⭐ ] [unsent] Are you g [...] [ ✉ →  ⭐ ] I went to Westchester. Charles offered a spare room, and I decided I’d stay here, at least for a little while. 

[masterofmagnetism]

psicnic​:

.

Oh, how he has missed that smile. It doesn’t even register until he sees it once more, a sight that somehow echoes round both the room and Erik’s own mind, and as a result Charles’. It fills him up entirely. The other man deserves to be smiling far more often than he is, but he can’t deny that it feels extra special because Charles himself caused it. 

He feels immature, suddenly, finding such pride in such a minor achievement. It’s the sort of feeling he would encourage in anybody else, but in himself it feels silly. He’s too old for such childish wants, but he wants them nonetheless. It is, simply put, Erik. 

“Not around the house, simply the grounds.” Though, even as he says it, he’s thinking of things that do need to be fixed at the school that he can’t himself. It isn’t as if he’s short for money, but saving on paying somebody by mentioning it to Erik isn’t necessarily a bad thing. He can’t fathom suggesting paying the man, can already picture the offense he’d take to it. 

At the man’s self-assured words, Charles finds himself nodding without a second’s thought. He does look good in anything, that can’t quite be disputed. “Hat and overalls is a classic look,” he says, instead of everything else he wants to. 

“You know..” He begins, unsure of where his sentence is actually going to end when he begins it, “Erik, you’re always welcome here, for as long as you would like.” Charles is careful, always so careful, whenever he hears something that he’s not meant to. Telepathy is not as accepted as other mutations. That isn’t to say, of course, that mutants are wildly accepted ( he is not so naive as to believe that, no matter what the man stood opposite him may think, ) but there is a special place of contempt held for a telepath.

However, that doesn’t mean that he can’t interpret whatever Erik’s broadcasting right now. He’s always so careful to hide his emotions, and he does it so well, that whatever this listlessness is, it is particularly strong. He won’t acknowledge it openly, neither of them will, but he can do his best to help. 

The chess board in the corner of the room is beginning to grow dusty with such little use, and he feels himself hope for a game before Erik can even finish his sentence. “You’re not interrupting anything at all.” He rolls over to the board, which now only has one chair beside it. It isn’t a chair Charles ever has to use, and he wonders if it occurs to the other man why he’s kept it there. His heart lurches at Erik’s choice of words, but he doesn’t comment. He hates to think of it at all. “Though, I do hope you’ve been practising since we last played. Give me a challenge.”

//

Erik snorts his amusement before he can stop himself, arching a brow at Charles. “Ah, I see--it’s far more easy to justify a terrorist tending the rosebushes than it is one dusting your chandeliers.” He thinks (hopes) he manages to keep the faint tinge of bitterness out of his voice, because he can read between the lines, thank you. Knows that it’s one thing to let the enemy meet you on your territory and quite another to let him mingle amongst the children--especially having recruited a not inconsiderable number of them away to help lay seige to New York just a year ago. ( A year--has it already been so long? ) 

And then, almost before Erik can finish the thought, Charles is addressing it without acknowledging that he’d heard it at all. A dignity, then--Erik doesn’t feel the familiar intrusion of the man’s mind, so he must have been thinking rather too loudly for the man to ignore.

You’re always welcome here.

He very badly wants, in that moment, to believe it. Coming back to Westchester--back to Charles--always feels like a weight off his shoulders, like a breath of fresh air, like a blanket wrapped around with warm familiarity. There’s moments of it elsewhere, here and there, but nowhere more reliably than the school. And certainly nowhere recently.

He wants to believe it, but Erik’s smile is thin, appreciative yet dubious even as he follows Charles over to where the chessboard has clearly been gathering dust. “I appreciate the offer, old friend, but I fear your students may not agree.” Especially not if they’d caught wind of what had happened on Genosha in that final week before Erik had died--if they’d heard that Erik had come terrifyingly close to crossing a line he’d never crossed in all his fights with the X-Men. 

( He can still see Ric’s face when he’d knocked on the man’s door after his resurrection, the way the blood had drained from his face all at once, the way he lashed out to try and cover the terror that was coming off him in waves. He still doesn’t know how to fix it. If he can fix it. )

Erik reaches out to brush the thin layer of dust off of the chair--only one, he notes, and feels a twist of guilt in the pit of his stomach at the reminder of why--and takes a seat, reaching out to take a king in both hands and switching them back and forth before offering both closed fists to Charles. “Oh, come now. You don’t think I’d show up here planning to lose to you again, do you? Besides--I’m always challenging. It’s a personality trait. Part of my charm.”