mir-rcha asked: Are you still accepting prompts? "I've been yours even before you were born," Erik said...
…his thumb sweeping across the curve of Charles’ cheekbone, his eyes burning with that strange inner fire even in the darkness as they roved across Charles’ expression. Charles let his own gaze wander, studying each line and each angle of Erik’s face, though he knew it already by heart, could have sketched each elfin feature perfectly from memory. He raised a hand to touch the tapered end of Erik’s ear and said, smiling, “You know, Erik, you are far more romantic than you pretend.”
"Am I?" Erik ducked his head and laid his mouth against Charles’ jaw, then moved it lower to speak directly over the pulse in Charles’ throat. "Then I seem to have you deceived, my lord." He pressed a kiss into Charles’ skin, a touch that drew a shiver from him. "My people are not romantic in the slightest."
"And yet," Charles replied, arching up toward Erik’s mouth, "you utter words that set my pulse racing, and you write such gorgeous poetry."
At that, Erik paused, his fingers stilling along the line of Charles’ shoulder. “What?”
"You left a poem on my skin the other night," Charles told him wryly. "I saw it in the mirror as I dressed." He still remembers the jolt that had hooked through his belly as he’d turned and spotted the three lines running across his side, elvish script that followed the curve of his ribs. It had glowed faintly blue, its light fading even as Charles had tilted his head to read it. Erik had left marks on his body before, drawing pictures with his finger, his magic laying it temporarily into Charles’ skin until Erik banished it with a wave of his hand. But evidently he had forgotten to dismiss this one, three glowing verses that Charles had just barely been able to decipher.
HOW DID YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I LOVE COUPLES WRITING ON EACH OTHER
AND ERIK AS AN ELVEN PRINCE I AM DIE
THIS IS BEST
twentyghosts asked: Charles said, "Erik, I can't believe
they’re keeping you in these conditions!”
He paced from one end of the small, damp cell to the other. Erik sat on the cot, his back against the wall and his legs folded in front of him. His entire body was still except for his eyes, which tracked Charles
"I don’t know what you expected," Erik said, sounding almost curious. "They’re humans, after all."
Charles quit his pacing, coming to a stop before Erik’s cot. What had he expected? He had thought - well, he had thought Erik was dying, for one thing, and possibly insane, for another. It had sounded crazy, the ramblings of the skinny, naked man he’d found lying on the side of the road past the outskirts of the city. Who had ever heard of a dragon being turned into a man? Charles was a scholar of the intersection of magic and biology; if anyone would have known about it, surely it would have been him. But there was a first time for everything, it would seem; Erik was one of a kind, and perhaps that was his curse.
HOW DO YOU WRITE THIS GOOD
DRAGON!ERIK IS SUCH AN EXCELLENT THING
Magda and the eggs is a nice touch and then KISSING and klajsdbfhjgagsvdh
I would very willingly read more of this should you be so incliiiined!
Anonymous asked: Half-sentence: "You look terrible..."
(warning: angst. for real.)
Charles laughed. The sound caught him by surprise, and he paused for a moment, listening to it echo in his ears. It felt like it had been years since the last time he had even smiled, even though it must only have been…
He tried to think back, tried to count the weeks, but his mind felt fuzzy. The edges of his thoughts blurred, a recognizable symptom of too much use of his power in too little time. A headache pounded relentlessly behind his temples, throbbing to the beat of his pulse. He put the gun in his hand down on the table and took a deep breath, rubbing at his eyes.
"You look terrible," Erik said again from across the room. Charles didn’t have to open his eyes to picture him: he was sitting on the bed, back against the headboard, stupidly long legs crossed on front of him as a gold-painted bullet levitated slowly around his fingers.
"I’m fine," Charles replied. He rested his head against his hands for another moment before opening his eyes again and resuming the work of cleaning his gun.
"You haven’t slept for two days," Erik remarked. There was disapproval in his voice, and it made Charles’ breath stick in his throat for a second. Erik had always hated when he got so busy that he neglected to take care of himself. Hearing the implied scolding in his tone now made Charles ache.
ikeracity asked: HEY BETTY. The worst decision of Charles' life was...
(I HOPE YOUR EXAMS WENT WELL TODAY IKE DARLING :D)
…when he asked Erik to pose for his final project.
At the time he had been running on a high-octane combination of redbull and dark chocolate, nearly out of his mind after three sleepless nights in a row, white lights flashing in his peripheral vision.
/smushes face all over this fic
theletteraesc asked: "Erik, I just turned nineteen, and..." :> :> :>
"…I don’t want to die a virgin."
Erik glared at him from where he sat on the stoop of his mother’s house. “Shut up. You’re not going to die.”
Of all the many ways Charles had imagined Erik reacting to his declaration, ‘irritated’ hadn’t occurred to him. This was probably a fairly significant lapse on his part, Charles reflected now, considering how well he knew Erik.
I don’t know whether to cry or ‘awwww’ or some lovely sweet combination of the two. :’)
garnetquyen asked: "Have I ever told you that you..."
Erik whispered against Charles’ temple as they swayed from side to side to the music that was playing softly in the background. His heart was racing despite the slower tempo of the song, and Charles, sweet beautiful Charles, was in his arms where he belonged. They were on the private beach that belonged to Charles’ favourite restaurant, the path from the back porch to the sand lit brightly with tiki torches. The moon was shining above them, watching the scene unfold in front of her with a patience acquired through time. She orchestrated the waves to lap gently against the shoreline as the rest of the song played.
YES! THANK YOU! This is the only beach event I’ll ever accept! kadgfkgfdkh *tears of joy*
*cartwheels away making high-pitched noises of joy*
turtletotem asked: The worst part of it was, he didn't even realize anything was wrong until...
he was already starting to pass out, his vision greying along the edges. He braced one shoulder against the wall, prodded his fingers against his stomach where there was a sharp ache. His hand came away stained in red.
"Oh…" the street tilted as his body sagged, crumpling down to his knees on the pavement.
AND THEN WHAT?? BETTY DON’T LEAVE US HANGING!
Oh oh oh this is fantastic! Yes, Erik, carry him away in your arms and nurse him back to health!
our-girl-friday asked: "Erik, I don't know how to tell you this, but
"Erik, I don’t know how to tell you this, but - "
Erik shook his head. Took Charles’s hand. Charles stared at him in disbelief.
"I already know, Charles. That’s why I came here."
"You can’t possibly be interested in this - "
Charles stared, wide-eyed, as Erik crossed into his personal space and carefully, competently, effortlessly plucked the bundle of blankets from his hands. “I think you’ll find that I’m not just interested, Charles. I’m invested. He is my son as much as he is yours.”
Charles couldn’t quite wrap his mind around what he was currently looking at: Erik, still wearing his purple cape, his hair graying around the edges. David seemed such a fragile and tiny thing in his arms, but not once had he stirred at being transferred so suddenly. Quite the contrary: he turned in towards Erik’s warmth and began to snore, softly unconcerned.
"I don’t know what to say, Erik," Charles began.
"Tell me his name."
Erik smiled, smoothed down the fluff on David’s head with a fingertip. “Hello, David,” he murmured. “It’s nice to meet you.”
synekdokee asked: Okay. Prompted by a post I can't link to because tumblr is a poopy. Erik sees Charles standing on a river bank, looking determined, about to jump him. He intervenes. Angsty fluff.
Warnings: mentions of abuse, talk of suicide
He catches sight of the figure out of the corner of his eye. It’s a blur, there and gone at forty miles an hour, but something about the solitary slash of darkness against the pale morning sky makes him pause. Almost sure it’s a homeless man or a jogger, he glances up at his rearview mirror to get a better look and it’s—it doesn’t look like either, really. The figure is clad in jeans and a thin sweater that can’t possibly be warding off the frosty morning, and now the sweater is coming off, stripped from limbs that look too thin even from a distance, tossed to the side as the stranger takes a step closer to the railing of the bridge.
Without meaning to, Erik slows his car, pulling to a stop on the shoulder of the road. For a moment, he simply sits there with the engine idling, absently rubbing his fingers together to keep them warm because his A/C is busted again and won’t give him more than a few wheezing puffs of warmth. He watches the figure in the rearview mirror as it drifts closer to the edge, puts both bare hands onto the icy metal railing, looks down into the water far below.
Suddenly Erik knows exactly what the figure is doing here. He’s out of his car and running up the sidewalk before he even thinks otherwise.
Okay, I was not expecting this to take a sharp right straight into canon territory the way it did and I LOVE IT IMMENSELY, every little parallel and inversion, plus it’s just a beautiful little story all by itself. GET ON MY BLOG, NOBLE FICLET. AND STAY THERE.
crossota-alba asked: actor au where charles or erik is an actor and visits a restaurant owned by the one who's not an actor and the actor leaves notes like the one that fassy left at Shawnty’s Cafe every time he comes by
Based on this.
Erik is taking apart one of the broken coffee machines in the back, trying to find whatever faulty wiring is making such horrid noises, when he hears the bell above the door ring, followed by the distinctive feel of a battered up old watch and a familiar ballpoint pen, tucked warmly into the inside pocket of a jacket. His heart suddenly leaping in his chest, he tosses down the side panel he’d been working on, wipes his hands on a nearby towel, and hurries out to the front.
"Your boy’s back," Emma calls out, not bothering to look up from her computer as he passes her office. At her words, his step quickens, the frustration from tinkering with the stupid coffee machine dissipating as he nears the counter, where a line snakes out in front of the register, full of sleepy college students and impatient businessmen. Alex is mixing up drinks as Hank mans the register, flushing as a tall, annoyed customer barks at him for messing up the order again.
“I’ll take this,” Erik says smoothly, giving Hank a push toward the kitchen. “Go see if you can fix the coffee machine in the back.”
Hank shoots him a look of obvious gratitude and scurries off. When Erik turns to the register and settles a slightly menacing stare on his face, the annoyed customer’s expression becomes considerably less annoyed.
The line goes as quickly as Erik can manage, and then finally, finally, the battered watch rests against the counter, clever fingers pressed thoughtfully against a red mouth as blue eyes scan the menu. Charles looks…different. As he decides on his order, Erik takes the time to study him, trying to catalogue what’s changed in the three months since he’s last seen the man. Most obviously, Charles is now sporting a beard, startlingly red and neatly trimmed. His hair’s been let out a little longer, now brushing his forehead and curling at his ears. He looks a bit worn, shadows darkening beneath his eyes. But he’s still the best thing Erik has seen all week.
sasheenka asked: I would like a fic where Charles walks somewhere in the rain, minding his own business, deliberately walking as far away from the road as possible, when a fast car runs past and splashes him head to toe. It happened to me yesterday, so reading it cheriked would make it not suck so much :D
The thing about getting stood up is that it doesn’t happen to Charles. He’s a terrific flirt and a terrific gentleman, and his first dates don’t always go splendidly but they’re never atrocious and there are never any hard feelings about it. He’s a polite, charming, occasionally funny, usually fun dinner partner and an excellent lover in bed, and he’s perfectly willing to commit exactly as much as the other party would like to commit, whether it be casual or something nearer to serious. He’s ideal boyfriend material, and that isn’t his own opinion, it’s Raven’s. He generally doesn’t put much stock into his sister’s input on his romantic life, but his track record really isn’t too shabby. It must mean something.
On Tuesday night, sitting alone at a table for two in one of his better tuxedos, downing his third glass of wine and staring morosely at his watch, he has to wonder if it means anything at all. It’s 8:46. Derek was supposed to meet him at 7:00, and there’s been no call, no apologetic text. His number’s ringing straight to voice-mail, and Charles is suddenly tired and fed up all at once. He calls for the check, gathers his coat, and sweeps out of the restaurant with a huff of injured pride.
Outside, he stops under the awning and glances out over the lamp-lit street. At least it’s stopped raining now, leaving behind only streams of water running by the curb. Charles considers calling a cab and then decides against it. The night is cool and bright with the moon shining overhead, and he figures he could use the walk to clear his head.
I will take an entire full-length fic of this please and thank
Ooooh yes lovely