Disclaimer : Characters belong to their respectful owners
Fandom : X-Men: First Class (2011), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014)
Rating : from K+ to M
Pairing : Cherik- Erik Lehnsherr x Charles Xavier (X-Men: First Class and X-Men: Days of Future Past)
Genres : Fanfiction, slash, humor, fluff, angst, dark, AU etc. (depends on each snippet)
Characters : Erik Lehnsherr (Magneto), Charles Xavier (Professor X), Henry Phillip “Hank” McCoy (Beast), Raven (Mystique) etc.
Warnings : spoilers for First Class and Days of Future Past, mpeg, character’s death, violence, shark joke etc. (again, depends on each snippet)
Summary : An alphabetical collection of snippets revolving around the relationship of Erik Lehnsherr (Magneto) and Charles Xavier (Professor X)
K – Kafkaesque
One morning, as Erik Lehnsherr was waking up from pleasure dreams, he discovered that in his bed he had been changed into a huge grey shark. He lay on his back (this position caused his back fins to numb and pain) and saw, as he lifted his head up a little, his grey abdomen attached with more fins. From this height the blanket, just about ready to slide off completely, could hardly stay in place. His fins, pitifully thin in comparison to the rest of his circumference, wiggled helplessly before his eyes.
“What’s happened to me,” he thought. It was no dream. His room, well, their room to be more precise, a proper, furnished room for two full-grown human beings, only somewhat too messy, lay quietly between the four well-known walls. Above the table, on which a collection of books and many metallic objects spread out—Erik was a metal bender—hung the picture which he had set in a pretty gilt frame (he had made the frame himself, a proud work). It was a picture of a young man wearing absolutely nothing but a fedora and a fur boa. He sat erect there, lifting up in the direction of the viewer a solid fur muff into which his entire forearm had disappeared.
Erik stared at the picture, wide eyed as if being hypnotized by the deliciously slender curve of the young man’s hip and he seemed entirely forgotten about his bizarre shark state, until a voice called out to him. To his mind, actually.
Get off me, Erik. You’re crushing me!
Erik wondered in his mind. The man-turn-shark finally recalled that last night he had gone to bed with a partner and now said partner was nowhere in sight.
Where are you, Charles?
He heard a sigh.
Roll over! I’m beneath you.
Erik was confused but he did as Charles told him. After many tries and fails, he managed to rolled… off the bed and landed heavily on the ground.
This body is a pain in the ass, he thought, missing his lithe human body.
Told you not to turn over in the night. Almost got me crushed.
The same young man in the picture lying on the bed in the same unclothed state, minus the fedora and the fur boa, rubbed his messy brown locks and slightly groaned.
Erik blinked all three eyelids (which is a strange gesture since sharks don’t blink). Did Charles not see anything strange in the room? Thing like Erik Lehnsherr had turned into a shark.
Not to mention a shark out of water.
“What do you want for breakfast? Trouts? Herrings?”
Charles asked nonchalantly with his physical voice while putting on his clothes.
You don’t see anything strange?
Great. Even his human voice was gone. Good thing Charles was a telepath.
… Or an animal whisperer.
I’m a shark.
Charles stifled a laugh. “So? As far as I remember you’ve always been a shark. Did you dream about being a dolphin last night?”
I dreamed of being a man, thank you. He growled mentally, which earned him a gentle pat on the head from his partner.
“We’ve talked about this, haven’t we? Shark or not, I love you all the same.”
For a moment Erik felt so warm and so loved that he almost thought being a shark was not a huge problem as it might seem.
But Charles, merciless Charles just had to pull him back from his little fantasy.
“Get up you lazy shark,” Charles scolded, not severely, “breakfast won’t wait forever. Neither will Wolverine and Hank.”
A stiff silence. And a mental explosion.
HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO GET DOWNSTAIR, CHARLES?
Later, much later, Erik finally calmed down enough to accept his situation. Maybe it wasn’t that bad, he mused, while around him a fur ball called Hank, a Siamese cat called Raven, a pair of (very noisy) chipmunks called Alex and Sean, and a wolverine called… Wolverine, all sat down for dinner.
At least, Charles was still Charles.
Erik as a shark. Shark joke again.
L – Letters
The letters arrived in his mailbox on a monthly basis are never unanonymous; still, Charles needs not the name to guess the sender’s identity. Even in the age when telephone and electronic mail have replaced pen and paper, he still receives one letter every month, which he then carefully preserves in a bronze box kept in a place only he knew where.
This is yet another secret shared between the two of them.
M – Missing
The last delivery Charles received from the enigmatic sender contained a torso and a message which read: “Deepest apology. Would love to send you a whole but sadly, there’s one thing missing: his heart. Try your luck by searching around you. It certainly should not be too far.”
N – Nightmare
“You like it, don’t you?”
That man whispers and flashes a smile.
There is something in that man’s smile, something unnamed, something makes Charles’s blood run cold and his entire body on fire at the same time. Slowly, the man takes his time breaking Charles, and in some twisted, depraved sense, Charles, like he’s said, enjoys it.
The same man wearing the same smile comes every night with various different metal devices to inflict agony and shame upon Charles, only to vanish when the first breath of dawn creeps into his bedroom.
Such is the nightmare which has been tormenting Charles since when he can’t pinpoint. He remembers he was horrified at first and couldn’t concentrate on anything without the man and his smile coming to haunt him.
Never has Charles imagined his fear will eventually turn into obsession.
Perhaps, it’s in his nature to be violated, to be depraved in such manner, as Charles often mocked himself in his own helplessness to resist giving into the dream man’s dominance.
The nightmare would remain a wicked figment of Charles’s psyche for the rest of his life, if he never met Erik Lehnsherr.
It’s a crowded bar where people in this town can come and shed their normal, civil skin to get in touch with their primal self.
Amidst the congealed mixture of thick cigarette smoke and pungent smell of liquor and figures dancing mindlessly to the deafening music, Charles sees Erik, sitting alone in the farthest corner, shutting himself off from the madness of the world around.
This is not the first time Charles has seen Erik; he has met this man countless times before. Every night, after he closes his eyes.
Erik’s eyes spot Charles from across the room and the man flashes him his usual smile, which is a silent beckon to Charles’s subconscious mind.
“You like it, don’t you?”
Charles vaguely hears Erik’s whisper as he lays underneath the man, his nightmare now the reality.
Despite pains pervading his flesh and bones, Charles manages to reply with a defiant smile.
Inspired by “Watch me fall apart”, a Cherik AU with Dark Erik.
O – Object
It’s been unwillingly become Charles’s mantra. When Erik tried to sink Shaw’s ship (and himself with it). When he tortured Emma Frost. When he sank the coin deep into Shaw’s skull. When he fired the missiles back to the humans. When he tried to eliminate Raven to secure mutants’ future. When he tried to execute the President in front of all Americans.
Yet, no matter how many times Charles says “No” to Erik outside their bedroom, inside, the only word to ever escape Charles’s lips is “Yes”.
The first 2 paragraphs of “Kafkaesque” are parody of Franz Kafka’s “The Metamorphosis”. Here is the original excerpt:
One morning, when Gregor Samsa woke from troubled dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a horrible vermin. He lay on his armour-like back, and if he lifted his head a little he could see his brown belly, slightly domed and divided by arches into stiff sections. The bedding was hardly able to cover it and seemed ready to slide off any moment. His many legs, pitifully thin compared with the size of the rest of him, waved about helplessly as he looked.
“What’s happened to me?” he thought. It wasn’t a dream. His room, a proper human room although a little too small, lay peacefully between its four familiar walls. A collection of textile samples lay spread out on the table – Samsa was a travelling salesman – and above it there hung a picture that he had recently cut out of an illustrated magazine and housed in a nice, gilded frame. It showed a lady fitted out with a fur hat and fur boa who sat upright, raising a heavy fur muff that covered the whole of her lower arm towards the viewer.