#cherrik

[x-mochu-x]

GOD THEIR SO CUTE 😭😭

Saw this on pintrest and had to post

[darealbellabelleoftheball]

I made a thing.

[a-fluffer-nutter]

A Distraction, Not a Cure

A/N - Hey guys, I’m here with a long and important fic. @nhasablog prompted this to me a while ago so I finally wrote it and I hope she loves it. I also wanted to make two points in this fic. One is the harsh reality of genocide and war. As a Jewish woman with family who were tattooed, I want to say thank you for all who are still fighting for my rights today in this crazy world. I thank you for standing with me while the world is once again changing. I also wanted to make the very important point about tickling. TICKLING IS NOT A CURE FOR MENTAL ILLNESS, it’s a distraction and a moment of bliss. Please consider this statement and all I wrote in this fic when prompting fics or just scrolling through this little community. 

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this Cherik fic @nhasablog prompted and if you have any questions or concerns, feel free to contact me! Thank you everyone!

Trigger Warnings: Genocide, concentration camps, depression, death

Word Count: 1,337

           The past will never cease to haunt him, the bombs will never stop falling, the screams will never silence. The metal gates nearly touching the sky, the stench of burning bodies wafting the still air. The tattoos, the numbers which branded them like the cattle they were, the numbers etched into their skin forever, the numbers staring up at him whenever he rolled up his sleeve. The ashen fire, what was burning that day? The clothes? The hair? The bodies? All he wanted was to forget, to unsee the horrors, to unlive his life, to be unborn and to never know the harsh realities of the concentration camps.

           “Erik?” Snapped from his thoughts, snapped from the war, snapped from eternal prison marked on his skin; Erik was back in the present where he belonged, back to the world where eyes lit up instead of tearing up. “I thought I told you to try the breathing exercises.”

           “I thought I told you not to read my mind,” Erik replied, half way between and snap and a whimper, torn between loathing Charles’ mind reading and adoring the salvation his friend gave. “Thank you.”

           “Why do you keep going back there?” Charles rolled up beside him, a gentle hand on the shoulder, a small quiver of the muscles. Erik wasn’t used to touch, at least, not that kind of touch. He was used to the touch you would never speak of again, the touch which bruises left behind on the skin and on the mind, the touch that left scars and abrasions which would never heal, the touch which caused mind numbing pain and tears rushing down emaciated cheeks. Charles was teaching him another sort of touch, the one which represented love. This was the type of touch which sent warmth throughout the body, the embrace of a friend, the safety within one’s arms, the gentle caress of a cheek, the entwinement of fingers. This was the touch that healed, the touch which softened eyes and battled the darkness away, the touch that resonated throughout the body, the touch to cause a peace in the mind and in the world. This is all Erik ever wanted, ever needed in the world.

           “I can’t help it,” Erik admitted, no use in hiding everything today. He would normally fight it, the anger, the sorrow, the fear. Not today, no, he wanted to feel safe, secure, still. He wanted to feel loved and he didn’t want to fight for it, he wanted it to stream through, a dam finally giving way to the millions of pounds of pressure. Erik wanted relief, rejoice. “I see it when I close my eyes, the fire, the people, my mother. When I breathe, I smell the ash, the smoke. All I taste is the mold and the char. All I hear is the screams, the sobs. All I feel is the blood and the cold steel. I can’t get rid of it.”

           “I could help you clear your mind,” Hand moving downward, fingers gently pressed into a forearm, into the haunting numbers. Another flinch, unwanted, though unpreventable. Erik was trying to get used to the touches, the small notes of affection, the hints of love Charles shared with all, though it was near impossible to fix a broken man. “Only if you want me to.”

           “Not that way,” Erik didn’t like Charles in his mind. He trusted him, his best friend, but Charles was not the only person to ever get into his head, to manipulate his mind. He knew Charles wanted to help him, to save him, to provide him sanctuary, but Erik couldn’t allow it. No, the damage had been dealt and it was there to stay. “Maybe something else. Chess perhaps?”

           “If that is what you wish,” Charles flashed a small smile, hand falling to Erik’s thigh, a reassuring squeeze, a different kind of flinch. “Are you okay?”

           “Yes, I…” Erik didn’t quite understand what had happened, the electric shock resonating through his body, the urge to squirm, to laugh. Charles caught on much faster, knowing this yelp was not of pain. “I don’t know what happened.”

           “It seems to me that you are ticklish,” Charles beamed, quickly forgetting the game of chess to be played, having found another way to clear the mind. “You know what that is, don’t you?”

           “Yeah, I’ve seen the students do it before. Something about touching another person to provoke laughter.”

           “Good,” Charles leaned in as close as he could, reassuring, not menacing. “Would you like me to tickle you? It will help clear the mind, momentarily that is.”

           “I guess,” Erik stuttered, not knowing exactly what he was getting into. getting into. He knew tickling was a form of affection, a form of bonding. A way to make others laugh and to forget all that was going on in the world. He knew it wouldn’t heal him, no, nothing could take away the damage done to him. Tickling was only a temporary solution to a big problem, not just for him, but for everyone. It was able to scare away the darkness of the world for a short time, but never a cure for the endless disease. It would never be the way out, nothing can cure the depression and the hatred in the world, the insecurities and the shadows, but it was a good distraction for many.

           “Try to hold still, I can’t exactly pin you down,” Charles said, a hint of teasing, warm eyes as Erik sat as still as he could, arms draped across the arms of his chair. Charles scooted as close as he could, reading Erik’s face, reassuring himself before going in, his fingers ready to do their dirty work.

           “What is this?” Erik asked, his lips contorted into a large smile, a stream of low giggles erupting. Charles’ fingers danced along his friends' ribs, scratching across his belly, swirling into his navel, feeling the hysteric rise and fall of his chest, his laughter growing the farther up he ventured. “Shit!”

           “Good spot?” Charles laughed, all ten fingers skittering under Erik’s arms, nails scratching along the skin as he managed to slip under the hem of the shirt, his fingers tracing along the bare skin of his midriff before reaching the hollows. Erik nearly screamed when Charles decided to switch it up a bit, squeezing both hands into one armpit, all ten fingers scratching the small area, the skin growing more sensitive by the second. Erik tried his hardest not the jump out of his seat, knowing Charles couldn’t pursue nor did he want it to end.

           “Fuhuhuhuck,” Erik squealed, feet drumming the floor. Charles was completely enamored by the situation, soaking in the sound of his friend laughing, finally laughing. He couldn’t help but slip into his mind, feeling the same expressions of mirth and hysteria as Erik was, knowing exactly what his fingers were doing to Erik’s sensitive skin. Charles couldn’t help but laugh too, the ticklish shocks resonating through him as well.

           “Having fun?” Charles asked, almost as out of breath as Erik, only stopping to give himself a break as well. “Want to go for a round two?”

           “Yeah,” Erik nodded, a mild blush, knowing he was enjoying this more than he should be. He knew this wouldn’t fix him, tickling wouldn’t correct his past and cure the dark disease plaguing his mind, but it was a simple distraction. This was a distraction from the world, a moment of pure joy and bliss, a moment to forget and to have fun, to bond with his best friend. Erik knew this would become a regular thing, it had to be. He never wanted this to end, for the bliss to wash away. He wanted not only him to be happy forever, but for Charles as well. While he knew this was impossible, he could at least allow the moment to last a bit longer. “Let’s do a round two, but this time, I get to fight back.”

           “You’re on.”

[notlikethemoviess]

X-men: Days of Future Past (2014) dir. Bryan Singer

[ianismyepiclove]

On days when all her favorite boys: students, just children, teachers, even gardeners are taken away, Hank promises: “I will stay. I’m not going anywhere, I'm not leaving you”.

like Erik did

Erik, which was her first — feeling, genome, sincerity; more-than-friend, less-than-lover, practically-sworn-enemy. The weak point of a strong Charlie Xavier. And for some reason the world decided to hit it, crumble the foundation, take up one of the few holy images of Charlie's life, which she so frantically didn’t want to recognize.

“They gave him these revolutionary ideas. It's all Shaw! There is good in Erik, I saw it myself. He is not capable of this. I know him, trust me”

“He is already wanted in all states and in Cuba too. No more Erik Lehnsherr, Charlie, only Magnito”

But she still refused to believe to the that, because: “Hank, it's just Erik”.

Our Erik

My Erik

However, then Charlie still had to say goodbye. In her head — the azure coast of Cuba, the clear endless sky and the hum of airplanes, Moira's lips, which were warm and soft, her hair fell on her confused face when she kissed Charlie for a long time, shot through, there in the sand and kissed so brutally and quickly at the mansion goodbye, which she did not even suspect — like an outlet; Charlie probably gave her all her bad memories for storage, where behind closed centuries the silhouette of the fearless Moira was eaten by another, male, too familiar. Wrong but necessary.

Xavier waited after — naively so, too girlish; maybe Erik will enter her door, and she will even forgive him: for leaving, for taking Raven — her beloved Raven — with him, and for her own back stitched with his stray bullet.

But Lensherr didn’t show up. Not every other day. Not in a week. A month later, Charlie saw reports about him on all three television channels with the headlines "worse than a nuclear bomb." He never came back to her.

And Hank stayed. Stuttering a little, looking loyal with his huge blue eyes. He simply remained under the recitative of the cries of the already-not-his-professor and her broken nails clinging to his shoulders in another attempt to get on her feet, which she no longer felt, under an empty gaze full of viscous longing and doom, looking at him so plaintively and frankly — Hank is the one who chose to stay.

How Erik chose to leave

Hank McCoy says: “There's no professor here anymore”.

Only the girl he so desperately wants to protect

[nopoeticdevice]

kind of madly in love with the way james mcavoy pronounces cherik

[merlin-fullmetal35]

Me: I now pronounce you, husband and husband. You may kiss the husband.

Erik: Wh..what? But....

Me: YOU MAY KISS THE HUSBAND!

[merlin-fullmetal35]

Me: hasn't been on Tumblr for months.

Me: go and watch X-men Apocalypse.

Me: ....

Me: !!!!!!!!!!!!!

Me: Okay I need to go on Tumblr.