#comingxfage

[paradisecost]

💭 Captain + Charlie

He'd probably be offended if I told him he'd look beautiful in lipstick, wouldn't he? If he shaved, I mean. Really not a fan of whatever's going on with his face sometimes.

[wastelandfed]

❛ don’t mind me. just enjoying the view. ❜ - Charlie // BOAK

the sound of the writers dry heaving

Heisenberg does not startle. Not just in this moment, but as a general rule: he simply never seems to be caught off-guard, even when a prissy stranger is suddenly in the (the name alone makes him want to roll his eyes) ablution chamber that was definitely empty of anyone but him three seconds ago.

"Ha. Funny. I like that."

He wrings his shirt out into the, ha, bloodbath, listening to the fast drip of red from fabric to water. Dimitrescu and her daughters will be furious: they won't want lycan blood in their precious, gross supply, will be enraged at the idea that Heisenberg is treating the space like a gym locker. Sucks to suck: it's their problem now.

Heisenberg turns to look properly at the stranger. It's laughable how different he is to Heisenberg. He's slim and neat and looks like he'd rather die than even touch the kinds of clothes Heisenberg wears, old and worn and chronically dirty. He has an uncannily similar aristocratic feel to him as Dimitrescu, but--different. Maybe because he's a man, in fancy men's clothing--maybe that's why he seems more businessman than aristocrat.

Boy. Dimitrescu's daughters will eat him alive if their mother doesn't do it first. The only difference is whether the poor bastard will enjoy himself just before someone's teeth sink into his throat.

"Now, how did you make it up here in one piece? I'm impressed! Most people don't make it past the front door!

Oh, don't tell me--you've got business with the lady of the house, huh? Lord. You must be one sick puppy to get tangled up with her. Or in a lot of debt. Both?"

[archiviststatement-a]

$ - Charlie :3c

@coming-xf-age

// “$” for an ACCIDENTAL text.

[txt: Unknown // 8:45am] Do you have any more files for me? I know it’s only been a week, I’m just... impatient. I want to know more

[txt: Unknown // 12:34pm] Ah. This was the wrong number. Sorry, to whoever this was. Tried to text my coworkers number from memory lol

[cryoasset-a]

“Why the hostility? Do you treat every stranger this way?” - Philip @ Erik owo

@coming-xf-age

“This isn’t hostility,” says Magneto flatly. “If it was hostility, you’d know.” He stands with folded arms near the doorway, his back against the wall, and stares down the mutant child that had approached him.

“Aren’t you supposed to be training with the others?”

[paradisecost-a]

❝ you…don’t like me much, do you? ❞ Philip @ Arthur :c

@coming-xf-age

Ah, Christ. 

Kids are always more perceptive than we give them credit for: it was only ever a matter of time ‘til the boy noticed Arthur had been in something of a mood for days, and like any kid, assumed he was to blame for it. Wasn’t nothing to do with him, of course - but how was he to know that without someone telling him?

Arthur sighed under his breath, hooked his hat on the fence, and turned to look at Philip properly.

“Don’t like you much? You’re about the only man around here I can stand longer’n twenty seconds at a time - ‘cept maybe Jack, but he can’t even talk yet, so there ain’t much he can do to annoy me. You’re a good kid. Brat sometimes, but a good kid. ‘Course I like you.”

[multipleoccupancy]

@coming-xf-age​ liked for a starter from Xavier

Charles was determined to find and protect as many mutants as possible. He would never force them to go with him, an advocate for free will despite the potential of his mutation. That same ideal was present when he had come to collect Phillip that afternoon.

“Hello Phillip, my name is Charles Xavier.” He introduced with a curve of a smile and a carefully light and friendly voice. “I understand you are having some difficulty in managing your mutation?” He was unphased by the boy’s appearance, if anything the visibility of his mutation seemed subtle compared to most. “I’m here to help.”

[yellowkclly]

👃 - Charlie (coming-xf-age)

👃 Poke my muse’s nose

Kelly blinked with a disgruntled scrunch of his nose, batting away the offending finger a hair too late to be of any real use.

"You tryna get your finger broke?" he glowered with only his usual level of coarseness. However, the poke seemed to have done the trick whether he liked it or not, drawing attention to the way Charlie stood above him, damn beanpole towering much taller than he had any right to be.

[terrorcaptain]

@coming-xf-age continued from X

Philip sat in his seat, dishevelled, wounded, but more importantly: humiliated. An accident with a rig had left him cut up, mostly on his hands and arms, but he’d suffered a blow to his chest as well. The big issue was his insistence on doing the work by himself, that he was big and strong now, a ‘young man, after all!’, but of course, a frame as lanky as his could only hold a certain amount of weight before he’d given in.

And yet for all the physical pain he suffered, none of it compared to knowing that the accident was witnessed by his grandfather, whom he held the deepest respect for and looked up to the most. Now, slumped miserably as Francis tended to his wounds, tears brimmed Philip’s eyes.

“Father used to tell people to leave me alone,” he muttered, “So I could do things myself. I have to keep doing things myself, otherwise...”

It would not be a pleasant recovery but at least it was not something that would permanently hinder him. He had been lucky in that regard but Francis did not think that needed saying as he carefully cleaned the wounds with the ointment from McDonald. “Otherwise what?” Francis asked, quickly checking on Philip’s face before turning back to his injured hands.

“Otherwise you won’t be the man he was? Is that what he told you?” He had his misgivings about Philip’s father and upbringing, sure Francis himself should have been there more but that was hardly an excuse. “There is no shame in asking for help and letting others help you.”

He went to wash the rag in a bucket before applying more of whatever McDonald had given him to it so he could work on his other hand. “You are part of a crew now, lad, we don’t do things by ourselves.” He was worried about Philip isolating himself aboard Terror by his insistence on doing things alone and proving himself, he had already been worried for the crew’s reaction to him being his grandson and any special treatment they perceived he was getting from the Captain.

[idontkillorphans]

🃏 - coming-xf-age

Tattoo Artist AU

“We’re closing soon.” Sleipnir called out, finishing his scribblings in his book as he heard the alarm to the door sound out. Sleipnir sat back in his chair, lifting his head to look at the other who had helped themselves into his store. A quick glance at his watch with a sigh. “What are you after?”

[bertievi]

⛈ - Philip (coming-xf-age)

⛈ Extremely anxious

@coming-xf-age

Albert often tried very had to hide his worries and troubles, the King so often appeared to be unshakable when it came to matters of war, even once brushing off the glass of his own shattered windows after a bomb only to continue on without loosing his level head. If there was one thing that could really set him off and probably spoke more about just how terrified he was of the situation than anything else. The heel of his foot tapped rapidly against the floor under his chair, his hands fidgeted with the edge of his sleeves and his breathing seemed to be being really thought about.

Beyond his chosen room for seeking solace, a large crowd of people waited and chatted happily, unaware of Albert’s complete terror at the thought of having to speak in front of them. He caught sight of Philip stood in the room and instantly stopped his fidgeting and tapping. “Sorry, -Philip, I --did not know you were --s-stood there.”

[outlawboah]

aid - Philip (coming-xf-age)

aid help them with a task.

“Ya know how to ride a horse or use a gun? Gonna stick around, gotta earn your keep. That includes bringin’ back food.” His horse was already saddled up and ready to go, but he figured the extra help hunting couldn’t hurt. He wasn’t even sure if the kid knew how to, but Arthur at least knew enough to get him started. One more person being capable of doing it made at least a little less work on himself and perhaps get Pearson off his back about needing more food for everyone.

[paradisecost]

💭 Charlie + Atticus

amnesia AU time :)

It feels like you're hiding something from me--or that you're not being honest, anyway. Something about how I am around you just doesn't feel right. I can almost grasp it, sometimes, when the fog in my head starts to clear- like a dream I can only half-remember, but... Isn't the nature of this thing that I can't rely on what I think? If I'm pitching a fit over nothing, and I ruin everything or I upset you again--

I feel like shit when I hurt you. I don't want to do it again.

[wastelandfed]

"Can you explain why you wield a giant fucking hammer?" - Charlie

"Oh, this little thing?"

The hammer swings down from Heisenberg's shoulder, hanging at his side before it hits the floor with a surprisingly gentle clunk.

"Every engineer has a favourite tool," he says, smiling unpleasantly. When he advances on Turner it's slow, unhurried, but something about the way he moves makes every step more anxiety-inducing than the last. "This one happens to be mine. It's for solving... unexpected problems."

The hammer snaps back into his hand from several paces away, as if yanked by a string.

[archiviststatement-a]

"Careful--" The large, dark man puts an arm out to stop Jon from stepping out into the street, moments before traffic fills the road and would have surely ended in a nasty graze, or worse. His accent is thick, and the saving arm is as thick as a tree branch, yet his smile is kind and warm. "I know music can be enchanting, but you must be aware of your surroundings as well, yes?" // a local salvador stops jon from getting run over sdngjsdfhgs

@coming-xf-age

Bizarrely, his first thought isn’t oh fuck I could’ve died, but oh fuck someone’s talking to me and I have earphones in. Jon yanks one earbud out quickly, alarmed as he registers what’s happening, and what had almost happened.

“I- y-yes, I- thank you. Sorry,” he adds, laughing uncomfortably. “I... wasn’t paying attention. Thanks.”

He swerves quickly away from the outstretched arm, darting across the road before he can embarrass himself further. It isn’t until he’s well past the next bus stop that his memory of the person who had stopped him really sinks in: tall and broad, with a deep and pleasant voice, and uncommonly kind eyes. 

Hm.

[onlyliberty-a]

“Ma, I need help.” - Philip

    There would never come a time where Anne would turn away any of her children when they needed her. From her own experiences with her dad, she knew that that would hinder the relationship forged between them; distance rarely makes the heart grow fonder when it came to being a pillar of support for them when they needed a listening ear. Anne had told him countless times, Hey, you know if you ever need to talk or yer doin’ okay, I’m always here. He hadn’t come to her before and Anne wipes the sinkwater from her hands on the front of her apron and turns to him, her smile wide.

    “Aye? Somethin’ on yer mind? Do I need to make a pot’a tea or…?”

[paradisecost-a]

Several seats away from Atticus down the bar, and old man freezes, his bourbon halfway towards his lips. His hat is lowered, and an eyepatch obscures part of his face, but the body language has already revealed recognition of the outlaw. Moments later, his drink is finished, and he leaves the saloon rather hastily.

@coming-xf-age

"Left in an awful hurry back there,” says a voice some distance behind him. It’s strikingly familiar: a friendly drawl with a razorblade edge, tinged with the South and dry as the plains. A little deeper, maybe- or maybe this is how he talks to folks he doesn’t like, and Rio’s just never been on the receiving end of it before. “A reaction like that, why, I’m pushed to think there’s somethin’ you didn’t like about my face. That hurts.”

He is, of course, waiting for the man to turn around. To turn and see Atticus’ revolver pointing at his chest: to turn so that Atticus can see him properly, get a good look at the face hidden under the patch and the low-brimmed hat. Something about the way he moves tells Atticus he knows him, or knew him, but movement alone ain’t distinctive enough to tell him just who it is yet.

“Turn around,” he says pleasantly, “And we’ll talk.”