ext_5541 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
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crack_van2004-12-16 01:11 pm
baffledking.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2004-12-16 01:11 pm
Entry tags:
WMD by C. Elisa (NC-17)
Fandom: X-MEN MOVIEVERSE
Pairing: Erik Lensherr (Magneto)/Charles Xavier
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
c_elisa
Author Website: Intimate Structure
Why this must be read: This must be read because when the "Five Things that didn't happen" is done so well, it's always incredible. More than that this is Charles and Erik. Fighting, loving, and breaking apart, but still so beautiful.
“Erik, we have an intruder in Cerebro.”
“Do we,” Erik said absently. He was leaning against the console, his back to the door. In his hand was a sheaf of scribbled calculations, and he kept looking back and forth from them to the scattering of panels set in the dome. “We’ll have to install some sort of security system. Is it friend or foe?”
“Well, I’m not sure,” Charles said without turning around. “It seems to be a little girl with red hair, a white nightgown, and—” he pressed a hand to his temple, pretending to concentrate—“an eight-o’-clock bedtime.”
WMD
Pairing: Erik Lensherr (Magneto)/Charles Xavier
Author on LJ:
c_elisaAuthor Website: Intimate Structure
Why this must be read: This must be read because when the "Five Things that didn't happen" is done so well, it's always incredible. More than that this is Charles and Erik. Fighting, loving, and breaking apart, but still so beautiful.
“Erik, we have an intruder in Cerebro.”
“Do we,” Erik said absently. He was leaning against the console, his back to the door. In his hand was a sheaf of scribbled calculations, and he kept looking back and forth from them to the scattering of panels set in the dome. “We’ll have to install some sort of security system. Is it friend or foe?”
“Well, I’m not sure,” Charles said without turning around. “It seems to be a little girl with red hair, a white nightgown, and—” he pressed a hand to his temple, pretending to concentrate—“an eight-o’-clock bedtime.”
WMD