#-- prompt.

[wyslyyzr]

" i can see myself in her. in more ways than one. " dad advice dad advice dad adv--

monster factory. |  @quickslver

AS  WAS  THE  WAY  of  children.  erik  could  not  explain  it,  not  in  any  way  that  would  satisfy  pietro  nor  bridge  any  gaps  and  holes:  although  he  had  not  been  given  the  opportunity  to  raise  his  twins  as  family,  denied  by  circumstance,  a  thin  thread  waned  evermore  by  their  disagreements,  pietro  had  grown  into  an  image  that  mirrored  many  of  erik's  fragmented  pieces.  and  he  had  done  the  brunt  of  it  without  his  influence.  the  congruence  begged  the  question  of  nature  and  nurture,  and  he  thought,  in  the  end,  his  children  would  always  be  his.  his  hands,  his  time,  his  blood,  all  that  he  had  built--it  was  for  them,  too.  

luna  is  special,  a  child  that  cradled  the  moon,  how  it  trickled  thick  and  silvery  through  her  personage.  today,  she  is  only  her  father's  daughter,  and  erik  is  saba,  zaydeh,  grandpa.  erik's  tallit  sits  about  the  head  of  the  chair  pietro  had  directed  him  to,  a  note  of  leathers--he  was  almost  touched  by  the  act  of  generosity,  for  how  his  son  might  scorn  him.  but  he  had  made  this  happen.  he  had  made  a  celebration  of  her  bat  mitzvah,  safe  and  warm  and  welcome,  no  rubbing  tensions  to  burn  them  up.  luna  giggles  and  yells,  either  hand  held,  tommy  and  billy  framing  her  sides.  pietro's  hand  falls  to  the  arm  of  the  chair  when  he  speaks,  and  erik  feels  him  sink  down  beside  him.

'  ah,  pietro..  '  erik  murmurs,  watching  from  behind  sliding  glass  the  three  buzz  about  the  constraints  of  the  yard  through  the  throng  of  other  guests.   '  she  is  like  you.  she  is  your  daughter.  that  is  not  such  a  terrible  thing.  '  he  tilts  his  head,  casting  his  gaze  sidelong  to  catch  pietro's.   '  does  it  worry  you?  '  his  leg  folds  at  the  knee.   '  make  yourself  someone  that  she  will  want  to  be  like,  and  she  will  not  resent  you  for  it.  '  

[wyslyyzr]

“I made some breakfast, if you’re hungry.” (WHY IS HE IN THE HOUSE. HOW IS HE IN THE HOUSE. )

soft meme.  |  @sebastianshaw​

ERIK  LEHNSHERR  SLEEPS   more  soundly  than  one  might  believe.  it  is  not  with  total  ease,  no--those  nightmares  crawl  and  creep  through  the  mounds  of  scar  tissue  in  his  brain,  pooling  sickly  behind  his  eyes,  visions  of  the  past  contorted  by  the  strange,  eclectic  unknown  of  dreams.  but,  still,  he  sleeps,  neither  thrashing  nor  howling,  turned  on  his  side,  baring  a  dirge  of  old  wounds  and  experimental  incisions  stretched  thin  and  filmy  with  the  passage  of  time.  when  he  wakes,  it  is  to  the  smell  of  airy  butter,  something  treacherously  sweet  filling  the  air. 

for  a  moment,  it  is  1956,  anya's  soft  gurgles  at  the  other  side  of  their  one-room  living  space,  visions  of  brown  curls  stained  by  the  sun.  for  a  moment,  it  is  1977,  and  charles  is  laughing  at  his  bedside,  phone  pressing  lines  into  his  skin,  erik,  you  won't  believe  this..  

for  a  moment,  he  is  content.  and  he  is  as  content  as  the  sleep  rubs  out  of  his  eyes,  alertness  settling  sharply  in.  he  had  not  given  his  keys  to  anyone  else,  and  those  that  knew  him  that  might  enter  his  spaces  with  ease,  respected  his  privacy  not  to.  that  meant  this  was  a  stranger,  or  one  too  foolish  to  heed  the  extent  of  his  wrath.  a  grandchild,  mayhaps.  he  remains  pressingly  ambivalent  up  until  he  espies  the  silhouette,  bare  from  the  waist  up,  curtained  with  hair.  the  signature  of  his  kinetic  makeup  alerts  erik  foremost  of  his  identity:  no  one  else  felt  so  strange  but  sebastian  shaw,  who  could  on  his  best  days  negate  any  projectile  erik  would  cast.  he  had  learned,  in  turn,  to  grip  his  innards  instead--his  natural  irons  the  easiest  target,  the  flesh  to  follow.  erik  rubs  his  eyes,  absently  tightening  the  silken  belt  that  hugged  his  hips  with  his  free  hand.   '  get  out  of  my  house,  du  macher.  '  

[wyslyyzr]

“should i be concerned about how detached you are about this?”

@teletropic

IT  WASN’T  ERIK’S  CHOICE  to  bring  david.  it  never  would  have  been.  he's  not  a  child  anymore--not  by  any  means--but  his  comfort  resides  somewhere  else,  and  david  haller  does  not  meet  it  warmly.  he  is  strong,  a  being  of  utter  subjugation  in  the  same  ways  wanda  was  (in  fact--he  loathed  the  idea  of  the  two  of  them  in  the  same  room,  what  utter  hell  they  could  pave),  and  it  is  not  his  ability  that  is  the  issue.  it  is  his  intimacy  to  erik's  person.  he  loved  charles.  therefore,  he  loved  david.

  sometimes  he  could  see  gabi  when  he  looked  at  him,  in  his  eyes  and  teeth,  the  blunt  crop  of  his  smile.  and  he'd  feel  sick  all  over.  

this  wasn't  a  part  of  him  he  desired  to  share,  but  there  would  be  no  stopping  a  boy  like  david,  a  man  with  all  of  his  father's  strengths,  and  a  shifting  perception  of  the  world.  the  domination  he  wielded--did  he  even  know  it,  erik  wondered?  he  watches  the  rain  patter  against  the  car  windows,  wishing  he  was  flying  instead.  blood  has  dried  in  the  grooves  of  his  hands,  and  it  isn't  enough. 

 '  ..  no.  '  

[wyslyyzr]

" i’ve trapped myself in someone ELSE’s house. " ( wanda ♡ )

monster factory. |  @bravedfate

TOMMY  AND  BILLY    had  called  them  bluetooths,  though  erik  wasn't  entirely  sure  why--they  were  neither  blue,  nor  in  the  shape  or  form  of  teeth--yet  here  he  stands,  fussing  with  the  one  gripping  the  exterior  canal  of  his  ear,  wanda's  voice  soft  and  fuzzy  through  the  radiowaves  that  did  not  manage  to  sink  instead  into  him.  erik  taps  a  finger  at  the  receptive  button,  electing  to  let  the  ground  fall  away  from  beneath  his  feet,  elevating  himself  into  drifting  winds  to  observe  the  city  line  beneath  him--and  perhaps  locate  his  daughter.   

of  all  his  children,  wanda  was  both  the  most  contentious  and  least,  quiet  and  gentle  in  ways  her  brother  was  not,  but  explosive  and  fierce  in  ways  that  would  dwarf  the  range  of  pietro's  rage.  it  was  something  he  respected  and  loathed,  both;  the  inheritance  of  his  temper.  his  free  hand  squeezes  into  a  ball,  tracing  the  lines  of  metal  and  brick.   the  world  would  never  rest,  and  very  little  could  surprise  magneto  anymore--though,  these  operations  of  a  scale  that  defied  mutants  and  humans  were  always  interesting.  he  tired  of  the  slaughter  of  his  people. 

'  be  calm.  but  i  know  you  are.  i  will  find  you  shortly.  '

[wyslyyzr]

"no, he’s catfishing married women." (erik asked if shinobi was at blackstone or something I assume dfjfsdjh)

monster factory. | @sebastianshaw

' CATFISHING? ' the word sounds heavy and awkward around erik's accent--one that has faded with his innumerable years residing in new york city, but retains its thick cadence, never one to be entirely killed. too stubborn, like every little part of him. ' --i am afraid i do not know the word. however, provided your context, it sounds ... like you, actually. '

[wyslyyzr]

"what did you think you were fixing?"

monster factory. |  @roguetm

IN  A  NIGH  PETULANT  ACT    of  frustration,  erik  flings  his  hands  up,  sending  a  drawer  of  utensils  along  with  his  gesticulation.  the  metals  clang  as  they  scatter  across  the  linoleum,  and  erik  has  to  bite  down  a  nodule  of  his  rage.  his  sigh  lifts  his  sternum,  abates  the  clouding  of  his  vision  before  it  rolls  white.  without  lifting  his  hand,  he  begins  the  act  of  restoring  the  silverware  drawer,  precisely  pinching  forks  and  spoons  to  lay  them  in  their  respective  holders.  

'  how  few  of  you  remember!  i  am  ninety  one  years  old,  anna  marie.  i  was  three  years  old  when  the  television  was  brought  into  this  world,  and  twenty  three  when  picture  was  given  color.  the  development  of  technology  in  the  modern  era--  '  his  mouth  twitches  into  a  bunched  corner,  fingers  raising  as  if  tugging  marionettes,  the  drawer  rising  effortlessly  into  the  air.   '  radio  waves,  cellular  phones,  television  signals,  all  of  it--all  of  it  relies  on  electromagnetism.  and  i  can  feel  that,  in  here.  '   opposing,  free  hand  reaches  to  tap  at  the  side  of  his  head,  through  stark  white  curls.   ' feh!   ..  es  ale  breyx!  '  

[wyslyyzr]

“I don’t care about everyone else! I care about I, Sebastian Shaw!” (Me: *sees a soft meme * Me: *RUINS IT*)

soft meme.  |  @sebastianshaw​

'  YES,  THAT  IS ..  a  truth  i  know  well  enough.  '  and  one  he  could  not  understand,  no  matter  how  often  shaw  exemplified  that  set  of  morality.  what  could  possess  a  man  to  care  only  for  himself?  his  economics?  his  businesses?  he  was  evermore  the  capitalist  than  a  mutant  brother,  and  erik  pondered  what  those  around  him  might  do  in  retaliation  if  he  were  ever  to  truly  discipline  shaw.  

it  would  not  be  fun.

a  brief  flash  of  red  in  his  vision,  behind  his  eyes,  that  clacking  skull--well,  if  he  came  bearing  bonds,  he  wonders  where  shaw's  loyalties  would  bend,  if  they  could  ever  bow  so  low.

it  was  shaw.  of  course  they  could.

erik  snorts,  turning  his  gaze  promptly  through  the  cold  as  it  stung.  '  go  away.  '   a  hand  lifts,  nonchalant  in  his  ministration--and  off  shaw  goes,  flung  through  snowy  air  with  ease.