#iammagneto

[marvelxpositivity]

callmesinister / i-am-magneto is such a flawless and fantastic writer on every single character blog he runs. He dedicates so much to his writing and the effort and love for his characters really shows in his interactions. Not to mention the mun is honestly one of the nicest and most welcoming people in tumblr RP. It wouldn't be the same without him! 

[magnetisedcatharsis]

"Quit hogging the blankets, you sneak."

[louise-the-changeling-blog]

Okay, this is what I have in my drafts to reply to.

Web-shooters-and-sass: Lost and Blind + (Un-named convo about college?) Sketches-and-scaffolds: (Unnamed Christmas thing)

Robotq12: [Unnamed Intro]

Levoleurcinetique: {Unnamed intro: Giant Monster}

i-am-magneto: [Unnamed intro]

If you aren't on here, and I owe you a thing, or you want to start a new thing, or whatever, just reply to this thing?

I'm probably going to tackle Webshooter's Lost and Blind first and will probably go in order.

Obvs, if you don't want to continue a particular thread, just let me know?

[magnetisedcatharsis]

♡

Send “♡” for my muse’s reaction to yours kissing them. 

He stills tastes like coffee and it makes her lip curl, but for once she won’t protest when he bestows upon her the long overdue act of affection she’s been sorely deprived for months. It’s always work these days, the cause and revolution more pertinent than his commitment at home. She feels a lot like the other woman, a dirty mistress to his faithful and loyal confidant in the shape of the mutant agenda. It’s like they’ve drifted apart all over again, separated even when sharing a room because the walls of division have been built too high. Magda’s only human after all, and that puts her in a position that doesn’t even the playing field. She’s not Erik’s equal anymore than he is hers, and it wounds her, cementing an ache deep within her chest when she has to come to terms with that truth on a near daily basis. Maybe that’s why interludes like this are so precious, when stolen moments make a point of laying waste to the walls erected between them and reforge a bond long since severed. She misses this just as much as she misses him, and when he comes to kiss her, she doesn’t push him away despite her frustrations. Instead her fingers coil into his collar, to root him to the spot and anchor him in a place she can finally reach. He’s still too tall for her liking, and she tiptoes up accordingly, meeting him as best she can in a mixture of hug and kiss alike. She wishes he could stay, wishes he didn’t keep abandoning her for the sake of his other commitments, but she’ll take what mercies he’ll give her whenever he can. Ghosting one hand up to ruffle his hair, her lips curve against his, a solemn smile brightening into an enamoured one as she nips at his lower lip and nestles herself quite rightly in the arms that are the only place she belongs. “You did  still remember where you lived then?”

[quicksilverinthehand]

i-am-magneto is trying to keep up

Pietro crossed his arms and glared through squinted eyes at the man in front of him.  Of all the people he had expected to see, one of the last was his father.  Of all the people Pietro had wanted to see, the last was his father. "Father."

[magnetisedcatharsis]

;always tomorrow

He's still asleep when she takes to watching him, memorising the rise and fall of his chest as her cheek presses to it amidst their lazy tangle of limbs. She's forgotten what this feels like and how much she misses it. It's the first night she's slept soundly in years, plagued neither by regret or fear - only the occasional snore from her dormant paramour. She likes to tease that he snores like a yak, that he could wake the dead and half of the street just by taking a nap, but she'd be lying if she said there was any truth in it. He's quiet for the most part tonight, and that's the way she likes it - when the house is silent and all she can hear is the therapeutic sound of that drumming heartbeat beneath her head. It's strange to think they can go back to this after so many arguments and uncertainties, even stranger to think that they can even be together after so much bad blood. It's the war that scares her, not him - but his devotion to it is equally troubling. Magda wants her family back, she wants that slice of heaven they left behind in the Ukraine when anonymity was the greatest currency there was and nothing outside of happiness needed to exist. Forget the city, she wants that cottage in the middle of nowhere, when her husband works all day as a carpenter and comes home aching but content to find his smiling wife and darling baby girl… Her drifting thoughts bring with them a wave of melancholy, a dull ache ever present in the void left by Anya's passing. She coils in closer to Erik, revels in the weight of his arm as it holds her rounded belly protectively, his fingers spread warm and even across the curvature of it, even in sleep. He's promised to protect this baby and to protect her, but she can't help but worry anyway. For all of his chivalry, who's going to protect him? She's seen the news reports, she's seen what's happening the world over, when mankind is teetering on the brink of war all over again. She doesn't want to bury another child, but nor does she want to become a widow either. She wants a life of simplicity, nothing more. A life she can spend with the people she loves in some measure of tranquility. She wants to grow old with Erik, to watch her children grow up and have children of their own. She wants a job, a place to belong and more important than all of that, she wants an existence that isn't constantly about teetering on a knife edge. When she closes her eyes she wants to see visions of sipping lemonade on the front porch on lazy Summer afternoons. She wants to imagine building snowmen and the scent of fresh bread curling around her like a warm embrace. She wants a future, simply put - and at the moment she's not sure she's going to get one. Sighing wistfully, her fingers fold themselves over her husband's as she shifts within their bed, the faintest of stretches seeing her kiss the beginnings of unwanted stubble along the underside of his jaw. She thinks maybe she should just content herself with the here and now, and ignore the reality at hand. Deep down she knows what she wants doesn't matter in the end; that the needs of the few can't outweigh the needs of the many. Maybe Erik's got a point fighting for freedom and liberty, maybe he's just trying to give the rest of his people moments like this one, when they can be safe and content in arms that don't want to harm them. It's admirable really, and she's proud of him for supporting such a doctrine, but she'll be damned if she says she's happy about it. She married Max Eisenhardt, the messy haired country boy. She didn't sign up to be a revolutionary's wife. Hadn't they already had a lifetime's worth of worrying about each other's chance of facing certain death? Hadn't they already paid their dues and blood debt? Magda knows it's selfish. She knows it's ridiculous and naive, but she wants nothing more than to stay in this bed with the man she loves for the rest of her life. If they never set foot outside of this room, maybe then they can pretend a war isn't coming. Maybe then they can pretend that this is still freedom and that everything they've fought tooth and nail for is rightfully deserved. Magda doesn't know where she stands with Erik anymore. She knows she's supposed to support him, as is her duty and her vow, but there are certain things she can't condone, no matter how good the intention. His anger is one of the few things that still scares her, the way he can so easily and readily switch from placid to homicidal in a matter of seconds. She's never been on the receiving end, but she's seen it and it bothers her. In those moments of blind rage, it's like he's a different person, as if rationality and morality have just been washed away in a heartbeat to leave only a monster in it's place. She doesn't like to think of him as one, because she believes still, in the heart that's beating beneath her ear at that very moment. Believes whole heartedly in the warmth and compassion she knows runs in his veins because it's the very thing that's spawned life within her womb. Maybe he's got lost along the way, maybe he's taken some wrong turns and made some poor decisions, but that doesn't make him a bad person does it? That doesn't give her reason enough to walk away. She's thought about it though, in the wake of his crusade, thought about where her life will lead if she continues to stand in his shadow, waiting for the blood on the ground to soak through and coat her feet. Maybe once the baby is born, he'll find a new purpose in his life. Maybe when the baby's born, he'll open his eyes and think; 'hang on a minute - maybe there's another way.' He was such a good father to Anya, such a devoted and honourable man, it instills her with the hope that maybe he will be again. Maybe this'll be the one thing that tips the scales and changes everything for the better. Magda can hope so at least, as she tries to fathom her place in his new world order. She wonders sometimes if maybe she's not enough, if maybe it's her humanity that's weighing him down and stopping him from achieving his ultimate goal of mutant austerity. And then at other moments, sometimes just as fragile as this one, she realises what an idiot she is to ever doubt Erik or his affections. To ever think for a single second, he was anything other than sincere or merely settling with her. It's conflicting in every sense of the word, and in part she thinks she's safer not thinking about any of it. The future is always a day away and to that end, she should content herself with the here and now, with the reality of warm flesh and an even warmer heart to tide her over until morning.

[magnetisedcatharsis]

You are so beautiful, my kotka. ( But must you insist on leaving these suggestive letters amongst my things? )

And you’re a scruffy layabout, but I love you anyway. I couldn’t possibly know what you’re talking about, darling. The only letters I ever send you are full of handy arts and crafts tips to get you through those long and lonely nights in solitude. It’s not my fault if you keep reading too far into them. I only said if you were bored you should go and knit yourself, just be sure to keep a firm grip on those needles when you twist for a pearl stitch, it’ll make the whole process considerably quicker. Or conversely you could just come home and we’d go through the intricacies of this together. There’s nothing suggestive there at all. It sounds to me as though you’re just reading too far between those macrame lines and reading what you want to hear.

[magnetisedcatharsis]

Every heart needs a home

"This would be a lot easier if you'd keep your eyes closed." The observation is well humoured as the brunette stands upon her tiptoes, intimately pressed into her husband's back as she conceals his eyes with her own two hands. It's been hard enough dragging him discreetly across the city without anyone noticing and she doesn't want to ruin this - not after all the hard work she's put in. She could stand to stay like this for a little longer though, she thinks, when her nose brushes against the base of Erik's neck and she can inhale the familiar scent of home. He smells like hard labour, like perseverance and tenacity all rolled into one - but it's soothing; calming even, when she's nudging him forwards, guiding him towards the project she's spent the last fortnight working on. By the time they arrive, she mourns the fact she needs to move, a whispered warning uttered in his ear as she withdraws her hands and checks methodically that his eyes haven't snuck a peek as she fusses with a wooden door. The lock clicks and the handle turns, her shoulder pushing it open as she tugs those weathered hands proudly to guide him through the proverbial looking glass into a land of her own making. "You can open them now." Magda tells him at last, her hand still clutching at Erik's own with a naive little swing until she severs the connection completely to smile and await his judgement. It's not exactly the most conventional of Valentine's gifts going, but she's tried her hardest to think of something he both needs and could appreciate - and in this case, it's a home. The apartment is small, but it's all she can afford - and it's a step up from letting Erik sleep in a warehouse with god only knows how much asbestos. Everything she's done to this place is for his benefit, from the freshly cleaned carpets right down to the pristine sheets now stretched over a bed that will always be preferable to the floor. Photos line the adjacent wall, from the black and white beginnings of both their families, right through to the smiling faces of two technicolour twins. Every moment of positive history is on that wall, even their sole wedding photo, still singed around the edges from it's rescue in the Ukraine - yet all the more important because of that fact. "The cupboards are stocked and there's food in the fridge. I ironed a couple of shirts, so they're in the wardrobe and then there's a collection of other bits and bats in the drawers like socks and things for when you don't want to go commando." The Pole's lips twitched nervously and she shuffled on impulse, glancing around the room as she continued to babble in earnest, waiting for some moment of judgement one way or another. "There's a few books on the shelf in the corner, I couldn't find anything really exciting so you've ended up with Winnie the Pooh, some Nietzsche and a bit of nonsense by Freud. There's also a copy of Jane Eyre, but I think I need to liberate that one." Magda exhaled, ruffling her ever growing set of curls with a crinkle of her nose as she stepped sideways towards another room and finished her little tour of sorts. "This was supposed to be a nursery, but as you can see, it's not quite finished yet." She'd tried though, tried so hard it brought a tear to her eye. Once peeling wallpaper had now been stripped, the walls coated in a minty shade of pale green as tiny yellow ducks bordered the room. She'd worked all night to try and get that one finished before returning to steal Erik away into this modest slice of paradise. It was him she turned to face now, as she rocked back and forth on her heels like a nervous child, simultaneously coy and smitten at the same time. 'Every heart needs a home, ahuvi. So happy Valentine's day, and welcome to yours."