⁂
shark vs the universe
Misplaced Lens Cap
Claire Keane
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Mike Driver
taylor price
NASA
hello vonnie
Xuebing Du
occasionally subtle
#extradirty
cherry valley forever
pixel skylines
almost home
tumblr dot com
Andulka
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
oozey mess
No title available
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Ecuador
seen from United States
seen from Sweden
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Japan
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from United States
@sacrifxced
“No, you just said that and now I’m deeply depressed.”
[Well, perhaps he’s kidding him. Perhaps.]
“You don’t look very depressed. And you seem more offended than hurt. I don’t know why you’re acting like such a stepped on cat about this Erik.”
[ Surely Erik has more than enough reasons to be confident about how Charles feels about him. He’s very clearly biased on the subject of Erik Lehnsherr. ]
“Charles thinks Captain America is hotter than me.”
“You are taking an innocent boyhood crush in the completely wrong context, honestly.”
[ Charles never pegged Erik as the owner of such a fragile ego. ]
[[I made some Charles Xavier GifIcons! None of the gifs are mine
Please reblog if you use them.]]
Examples:
Read More
god i want you in some primal, wild way animals want each other. untamed and full of teeth. god i want you, in some chaste, victorian way. a glimpse of your ankle just kills me.
want, clementine von radics (via clementinevonradics)
( This isn’t the first time he’s awoken smelling burnt flesh. It happens, almost every night—he dreams of being strapped down on the table, of his mama, of Shaw. He dreams of shoveling skeletons, some of them still breathing if just barely, into flames—sometimes the bodies don’t fit so he shoves them in. Sometimes, they scream.
He dreams of chocolate and joined twins and injections that make his legs swell and body burn so hot that he wakes up covered in sweat. He can hear the laughter when he awakens—”oh, he’s a strong boy, he can fight through anything”.
Perhaps his body left the camps long ago, but his mind is still strapped down onto Shaw’s table. He has no power, and he hates it. Hates it more than anything.
Glancing over Charles, he marks his page with a still shaky hand—it’s truly lovely, even lovelier because he knows Charles fingers have touched the same pages he does—and sets his full attention on the other. He’s not a telepath, but he can read Charles well enough by now.
He can taste the gunmetal of disgust in his mouth—not only does he have to face this monster in himself, Charles—the one person who should never see such an ugly truth—must too. Every night, perhaps. )
——Did I wake you, Charles?
[ Charles knows that Erik has seen more horror than any human should have to see. More horror than should even exist in a world with a God. So it was no wonder that Erik had lost his faith in the goodness of people, in religion. And Charles has been in Erik's head, has seen the memories he lived through-- stared through Erik's eyes at the way Shaw smiled down at him, malicious gleam of teeth in his grin.
He's never seen in through the hazy fog and surrealism of nightmares until tonight. Charles feels, muscles overtaxed like after a run, like he's been stretched and snapped back into place. ]
In a sense yes. Don't worry yourself about it.
[ Charles crosses the threshold to Erik's bed, telegraphing his actions as he sits on the empty edge of the bed. He sets a hand on Erik's knee over the covers and squeezes, summons a smile. ]
You didn't disturb me. Well-- the content did but I'd rather be awake if you're awake. I think perhaps my shields were down or perhaps I unconsciously sought you out.
He glances up at the sound of approaching footsteps, a dog-eared copy of The Once and Future King in his lap and a glass of Ovaltine on the table. He’d rather scotch—perhaps cognac —but this isn’t his home to take as he pleases.
"——Isn’t it a bit past your bed-time, Charles?"
The comment has more bite than he intends. It’s not intentional—his mind far more distracted by the nightmare that’d consumed him only twenty minutes ago.
[ Charles dreams the sky is falling, over caving in around him. Snow falls around him, he stands ankle deep in it and there is no sun. There is a grey sky. He thinks he should be cold- shivering, but he's not. The flakes of snow land on his hand but--- they don't melt.
It isn't snow. It's ash falling like a blizzard, the only light is a fire blazing in the distance. The air smells like choking smoke and burning flesh. Charles is aware of the body he's in but he has no control over it. Because he-- they're Erik. Erik is calling for his mother, his father, anybody-- when leather straps seem to appear out of the blanket of ashes like snakes, around his ankles, his wrists and the more they struggle the more they're tugged down.
Charles wakes in a sweat, sheets tangled around his legs. Charles knows his own nightmares, to know it's not one of his. He makes the trip to Erik's room barefoot, as though guided by his own magnet.
He doesn't know what he expected but Erik is sitting in bed, a glass of chocolate milk on the bedstand and Charles copy of The Once and Future King on his lap isn't it. ]
Don't be ridiculous. I've not had a bedtime since I was a boy.
Read More
Thank you so much for rubbing that in....
He feels Charles’ presence beside him, his warmth almost permeating onto his form. He imagines Charles touching him then, brushing up against his side—maybe even closer than that. He’d like Charles to be closer than that.
Then he’s confused. For years, he’s given into the most basic desires of his body—he’s never wanted anything else. But now, he has no idea how to answer desires that come from somewhere else in him, deep in the cold winter of his heart that’d been frozen since the camps were liberated. Charles brings it out of him, and he’s not sure how to react. He’s not sure what to do.
Broken out of his reverie by Charles’ question, he glances over at him, lips pursed in thought. It’s easy to let the fact that Charles is a telepath go right out the window when his thoughts run a mile a minute in the stream of consciousness. It’s hard to stop it at times, especially because his main source of intuition can be found inward.
"—I have read a few excerpts, nothing more. Is that your favorite, Charles?"
He finds himself pleased suddenly, aside from his inner turmoil. He knows something else about Charles know. He wants to know Charles as well as he knows him—wants Charles to experience that from someone else, feel how terrifying and amazing it is, all at once.
He’ll have to read it for himself.
"I cannot say I’m surprised. As for me, I cannot profess to have a favorite just yet—though I’m a fan of Lolita.”
Charles has never been one to indulge in things like self-delusion. He believed in knowing oneself, and holding unto honesty. And with his particular brand of powers? And a very certain and haunting family history of losing a certain grip on reality and the tangible things one knew? Well-- it frightens him at times. He knows his powers and knows the power of them. Has tapped into them since he was a child and couldn't leave well enough alone, even when they left him disconcerted, but the thing that worries him? The constant growth of them. Charles hasn't found the depth of them yet- and he wonders where it stops. What his limits are.
It's not safe for a man to not have limits. Even one like Charles who wrestles so much with the morality of every action, and desperately wants to be a good man.
If he were less than honest with himself-- Charles fears he could build himself a fantasy world on in his head, indulge in all the things he wants. He could. He could retreat there- inside himself, if he let himself. So he doesn't, he doesn't fantasize, he keeps himself honest about what he wants-- at least in his own head.
What he wants? Is Erik. Viscerally, with an intensity Charles has never felt in an attraction to anyone ever before. And it worries him a little-- but the rest is exhilaration, the pins and needles and tingle of anticipation like something wonderful and sudden might happen any time they're together.
But he wants so much that he doesn't know what Erik wants. Can't seem to figure it out, is too terrified of losing their tentative bridge of friendship to ask him outright.
But Charles knows what he wants, and there are times when he gets a moment where it feels like he's got to lean closer, needs to touch Erik. Just-- casually, a hand on his arm or shoulder a squeeze. Sometimes he finds himself doing it- like a natural instinct he doesn't know how to stop.
Erik, he thinks, will be a hard habit to break himself of...if he ever has to.
"It is," Charles murmurs, straightening himself up when he sees he's slumped slightly toward Erik. (Like flower petals moving for the sun.)
"I daresay you'll see the effect it had on me, on my philosophies when you read it." Charles promises, finding that his mouth has gone a bit dry.
He looks up at Erik's eyes when he admits to a fondness for Lolita. It does surprise Charles a bit, he wasn't sure if somebody with Erik's history would be able to read that sort of manipulation and abuse of an innocent without being affected by it.
"Speaking of objectionable material." He says, softly. "A very well written book but well-- disturbing too."
mushes face into hands.
It's okay Ronnie, I forgive you. Tumblr tends to do that. *shrug*
In the dusty crawlspace of his memories before the war, he remembers having a library card. His mom used to take him at least once a week to browse and pick out a book so he could enrich his mind. He hadn’t minded, though—he loved reading. He still loves reading, though he hasn’t quite had the time for it in the past decade or so. He’s lost a lot of the things he once loved in the camps—perhaps he’s even lost himself.
But he finds himself discovering new things every day with Charles—like how he likes to teach, how much he’s capable of when he’s serene, how his breath quickens at the sight of the younger man at breakfast when they’re both the only two awake in the morning.
There’s so much he has left to learn—if not about the world, then about himself. Charles helps him every day.
"I haven’t read a whole book in years."
When Charles laughs, Erik offers a small smirk, taking out one of the more aged-looking books. Machiavelli’s The Prince.
"I didn’t realize you were familiar with Machiavelli, Charles."
He sounds delighted, and he keeps the book tucked under his arm.
"I trust you have good taste," Erik teases. "You’ll have to tell me some of your favorites."
Charles is careful not to interfere with Erik's headspace-- he knows enough to know that his skillset makes Erik slightly uneasy. Charles is used to that though, most people were uneasy with him. He'd read about perception being a double edged sword once, and he agrees. He often finds himself cut on the sharp points of knowledge in other people's minds. But knowledge has always been Charles' unique burden. Certainly a fitting gift for somebody as filled with the desire to know and understand things as Charles is.
Still, he doesn't dig into the depths of Erik's mind uninvited. He respects his privacy, and for a man who has been through as much as Erik has? Privacy is the least of what Charles would like to give him. If he was being honest? He wants to give Erik the home he's missed, the relatives he's long lost. He wants most of all -- to give Erik the sense of peace and safety that he longs for silently.
He can feel Erik's pleasure in the books, the echo and warmth of happy memories. The sort of bone deep pleasure that can't be forgotten, not really.
"Well-- you should indulge. This is a safe place Erik, one for the betterment of self, even if you're not a student."
Charles chuckles as he walks over to Erik-- paying attention to the way Erik's long fingers trail over the spines of his collection.
"Ah well, I make it a point to be well read. Even to material I find objectionable. And it's well, I find it's methods of leadership to be more than a bit harsh."
His smile softens, a simple happiness of having this man so untrusting of the world around him giving him his trust. Even something as simple as a matter of taste.
"I certainly think so, but that's rather the point of personal taste isn't it? We think we have good taste, because each of us like it. So I'll leave the final answer to you.
Have you read The Once and Future King?"
Erik’s never had a friend before, but Charles is his friend.
He’s had enemies—plenty of those—and acquaintances. Never a friend. His life didn’t allow for friends, for attachment. Shaw never allowed that, even long after he left the bastard’s laboratory. It’s as if his life is still being controlled, somehow—his fate already written for him. A reckoning.
However, he hadn’t expected to meet Charles. There’s no one like him in the world—not counting his abilities—and Erik finds himself unsure most of the time around him. Charles is intelligent, insightful, compassionate. He makes for good conversation and company—possibly the only person Erik can stand to be around despite their occasional bickering and difference of opinion—but something in Erik wants more. He doesn’t know what more can possibly be.
When they’re all moved into the Xavier residence—his own unpacking taking literally a few minutes with the few items he possesses—he feels the familiar warmth and company of Charles in his head and then, an invitation to the other’s study.
After a short, lukewarm shower (when he stands in the shower for too long he smells gasoline), he dresses in a turtleneck and slacks, hair still damp as he makes his way to Charles’ study. He hasn’t felt so clean and settled in so long—not since he was a child. It’s strange.
Knocking a few times on the heavy oak door, he enters on his own accord, shutting it behind him with a flick of his wrist. He’s almost breathless at the sight of all the books and all the shelves.
Glancing at Charles, Erik raises a brow, stepping toward him.
“—-All yours, Charles?”
Already, the pad of his finger caresses the dusty spine of a hardcover, eager to touch.
Erik has no idea how correct he is when he inquires if the library is all Charles'. It is, of course, as is the rest of the house and grounds but he'd felt a sense of ownership over this place-- this room in particular since long before he was the master of the house.
As a boy it'd been a safe haven, in a house and family that had often felt like living behind enemy lines. The tension in the air and all the things nobody talked about like an oppressive war zone. When Kurt and Cain had moved in he and Raven spent even more time in here. This room has been both a playroom and a sort of nursery. He remembers distinctly pouring over books like the secrets to everything in the world were on the pages, meanwhile Raven made little blanket forts under the table, always eventually managing to tug Charles down there with her.
Those had been the days where Charles didn't have to read her mind to know how she felt-- to feel it in the air around them. Her happiness had been like the heat thrown off like a furnace. Her anxiety like a thick wet blanket, uncomfortable and oppressive, smothering.
This room felt like home, but even more so? The books within it felt like home. The stories and knowledge and far off kingdoms, and places Charles had never even been felt as familiar as family.
He nods, his smile is gentle. Charles can feel Erik's happiness-- or the closest Erik gets to emotions like happiness, in the air. In the way he touches the spines of books-- reverent like Charles himself is. Like he's eager to read their pages.
"Yes. Very much so. I don't think you'd be surprised to hear this is my favorite room in the whole house."
Erik gives him a look that seems to say 'tell me something I don't know' and Charles laughs at it. "Well-- I did say you wouldn't be surprised. No need to antagonize me over being a clear bookworm."
{ʜᴏᴍᴇ } & { ᴍᴇssᴀɢᴇ } & { ʀᴜʟᴇs } & { ᴅᴏssɪᴇʀ }
"Cᴏᴜɴᴛʟᴇss ᴄʜᴏɪᴄᴇs ᴅᴇғɪɴᴇ ᴏᴜʀ ғᴀᴛᴇ: ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴄʜᴏɪᴄᴇ, ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ - ᴀ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʀɪᴘᴘʟᴇ ᴏғ ᴛɪᴍᴇ. Eɴᴏᴜɢʜ ʀɪᴘᴘʟᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴅᴇ…"
♖ based on xmfc & dofp + 616 influences + headcanons ♙ open for para/script/chat/asks/novella etc. ♙ multiverse, multiship, open to crossovers and original characters ♙ mun/muse 21 + ♙ skype available for plotting/friendship ♙13+ years rp experience, 2+ on tumblr ♙ degree in english/ creative writing
forwakanda replied to your post “New theme done. I still have to finish updating my links and about...”
I love it!
I love it too, but alas I can take no credit for the theme. All thanks go to sovietmadesoldier for making it look so pretty.
New theme done. I still have to finish updating my links and about page but hey- always more work to do, right?
I need to get active on my Charles again. So if you want to plot or do a thing maybe like this post or pop in my inbox?
[ Erik isn’t entirely sure how to take Charles blushing. Even if it was simply out of embarrassment or something like that, it was an… offputting sight.
He let him ramble on, however, well used to that particular defense mechanism by now. ]
“ Well we both know you weren’t trying to poison me. “
[ He said dryly, frankly amused by Charles and his flimsy lying. But as for the notes? No, he never wanted that to stop. ]
“ I’m hardly bothered by it. If I was, you’d know. “
[ A small, barely detectable smile creeps onto his lips as he reads the joke. He wondered if Charles understood how rare his smiles were these days. It wasn’t likely- most of them were directed his way anyways. ]
[ Charles shifts at that, huffs and tries and fails to look offended. He would never try and poison, Erik. He likes him far too much to want to try anything of the sort, even if he can do this to Charles, make him feel so unbelievably stupid and fumbling, like an inept schoolboy who found his tongue getting tied around itself at the very idea of flirting.
But that wasn't what they were doing...was it? Did Erik think he was?
Of course, it was accurate as Charles was very much attracted to Erik, both physically and in the more indefinable ways that were much harder to find. Erik was whip smart and challenging, and he made Charles work for everything. And maybe Charles likes that because so much has come to him easily in life, through family money or the gift of genius or a combination of both.
He very much likes to be challenged. Some things should only be gained through effort, after all. ]
"Very true. You're not the sort of man who hides his displeasure. I would have known months ago if you found them bothersome. Still I was-- well, it's not something we talk about and that's worked."
[ He was perhaps, a bit nervous about having to talk about the why, about having to answer questions about why he felt the need to write the notes, and why he cared so much about making Erik smile in the first place.
But there's a pain in Erik's eyes he doesn't talk about but Charles can see it sometimes, and sometimes it is so real and weighted that Charles feels like he can share in the emotion, simply because of the strength of Erik's emotions.
(It occurs to Charles, that it would be quite something to be loved with that sort of strength of emotion and feeling. But it's not a thought he indulges in.) ]
"But you ought to smile more, it suits you."
