#-- response.

you're right about the house of m thing! i really like house of m as a concept--some of the actual on page content is fucking bizarre but hey, as is the rest of marvel--so i've read the original 2005 run and the 2015 run, they're the right dose of ridiculous but plausible to entertain me.

like.. i dont think erik would ever actually realistically create a program like what the top of SHIELD does in house of m, which is literally human hunting, but its definitely one of those far-off unentertainable fantasy things (like the way i as a trans man have joked about cis ppl, its not something i actually think by any means but im like ah yes.)

and the interesting thing about house of m is, as you said, its a universe created by wanda in what she believes is a universe that would satiate her father and make him happy from what she knows of him topically, maybe even what she thinks genosha was supposed to be, or a complete bastardization of genosha too.

@sebastianshaw

THERE  IS  ONE  VERITABLE  TRUTH    here,  no  matter  how  shaw  has  come  to  it:  that  charles,  for  all  of  erik’s  personal  attachment,  wasn’t  quite  the  moral  advocate  he  painted  himself  to  be.  his  was  hypocrisy  at  it’s  most  fine,  so  thin  it  could  shred  his  skin  like  glass  dust;  how  a  man  with  so  much  material  means  to  change  the  world  could  do  naught  but  show  his  belly  to  those  that  would  subjugate  them,  yet  make  such  aggressive  violations  of  the  mind  and  memory,  was  beyond  erik.  not  to  mention,  the  children  he  raised  were  forced  to  endure  hardships  no  child  ever  should--especially  combatant. 

he  sullied  his  hands  nearly  every  day,  while  charles  remained  passive,  complicit,  and  painfully  aloof.  he  imagines  the  two  engaged  in  a  verbal  fight,  and  the  sheer  blissful  amusement  that  briefly  tides  into  his  chest  is  nearly  enough  to  make  him  forget  it  all.  

it  was  hard  to  tell  when  sebastian  was  being  serious  or  not,  unfortunately.  this  particular  brand  of  foolishness  would  create  the  need  for  a  lesson,  perhaps  well  learned. 

 his  arms  fold--the  gesture  is  absent  of  any  attempt  at  intimidation,  merely  an  idle  movement  of  the  body.   ‘  did  i  ever  tell  you,  i  was  a  sonderkommando  during  the  shoah? ‘   its  a  low  blow,  but  one  that  guides  deep.   necessary,  he  thinks.   ‘  i  was  the  youngest  in  my  unit.  twelve,  because  i  was  told  by  a  man  when  i  was  being  interned  to  say  i  was  older,  or  they  would  shoot  me  in  the  head.  i  do  not  know  his  name,  nor  whether  he  lived  or  died.  ‘  a  soft,  unclear  click  resounds  somewhere  close;  erik  has  found  something  in  the  electromagnetic  fields  he  could  feel  to  toy  with,  like  an  elemental  stress  ball.   ‘  i  labored,  burning  the  bodies  of  my  friends,  of  strangers,  children,  men,  women.  i  labored,  until  i  vomited  on  the  floor,  until  i  became  ill  with  hepatitis,  which  i  surely  contracted  from  one  of  the  many  corpses  i  handled  under  threat  of  execution.  ‘  

@sebastianshaw

VERY  LITTLE  SURPRISES  ERIK  anymore.  not  after  all  he  has  seen--the  march  of  the  world  united  under  the  hysteria  of  genocide,  red  and  white  flags;  the  stars  bobbing  like  nightlights  through  the  blanket  of  space,  the  asteroid  beneath  him  like  a  throne  in  which  to  speak  to  God;  the  springing  of  new  mutants  like  young  lilies,  and  the  subsequent  era  of  powerlessness  stolen  away  from  them  by  his  oldest  daughter.  and  evermore  than  that.

he  will  say,  shaw  manages  to  rope  a  little  bit  of  punctuated  shock  out  of  him,  even  now,  long  to  suffer  him  and  his  obnoxious  presence.  that  he  is  ever  so  bold  to  occupy  erik's  personal  spaces  only  affirmed  what  he  had  suspected:  his  stupidity  outweighed  his  sense  of  preservation.  erik  reaches  forward  after  casting  his  occupied  novel  aside,  sinking  a  hard  grip  about  shaw's  ankle.  it  was  a  rude  awakening,  and  he  deserved  no  less  than  that--perhaps  worse.  

monster factory. |  @quickslver

AS  WAS  THE  WAY  of  children.  erik  could  not  explain  it,  not  in  any  way  that  would  satisfy  pietro  nor  bridge  any  gaps  and  holes:  although  he  had  not  been  given  the  opportunity  to  raise  his  twins  as  family,  denied  by  circumstance,  a  thin  thread  waned  evermore  by  their  disagreements,  pietro  had  grown  into  an  image  that  mirrored  many  of  erik's  fragmented  pieces.  and  he  had  done  the  brunt  of  it  without  his  influence.  the  congruence  begged  the  question  of  nature  and  nurture,  and  he  thought,  in  the  end,  his  children  would  always  be  his.  his  hands,  his  time,  his  blood,  all  that  he  had  built--it  was  for  them,  too.  

luna  is  special,  a  child  that  cradled  the  moon,  how  it  trickled  thick  and  silvery  through  her  personage.  today,  she  is  only  her  father's  daughter,  and  erik  is  saba,  zaydeh,  grandpa.  erik's  tallit  sits  about  the  head  of  the  chair  pietro  had  directed  him  to,  a  note  of  leathers--he  was  almost  touched  by  the  act  of  generosity,  for  how  his  son  might  scorn  him.  but  he  had  made  this  happen.  he  had  made  a  celebration  of  her  bat  mitzvah,  safe  and  warm  and  welcome,  no  rubbing  tensions  to  burn  them  up.  luna  giggles  and  yells,  either  hand  held,  tommy  and  billy  framing  her  sides.  pietro's  hand  falls  to  the  arm  of  the  chair  when  he  speaks,  and  erik  feels  him  sink  down  beside  him.

soft meme.  |  @sebastianshaw​

ERIK  LEHNSHERR  SLEEPS   more  soundly  than  one  might  believe.  it  is  not  with  total  ease,  no--those  nightmares  crawl  and  creep  through  the  mounds  of  scar  tissue  in  his  brain,  pooling  sickly  behind  his  eyes,  visions  of  the  past  contorted  by  the  strange,  eclectic  unknown  of  dreams.  but,  still,  he  sleeps,  neither  thrashing  nor  howling,  turned  on  his  side,  baring  a  dirge  of  old  wounds  and  experimental  incisions  stretched  thin  and  filmy  with  the  passage  of  time.  when  he  wakes,  it  is  to  the  smell  of  airy  butter,  something  treacherously  sweet  filling  the  air. 

for  a  moment,  it  is  1956,  anya's  soft  gurgles  at  the  other  side  of  their  one-room  living  space,  visions  of  brown  curls  stained  by  the  sun.  for  a  moment,  it  is  1977,  and  charles  is  laughing  at  his  bedside,  phone  pressing  lines  into  his  skin,  erik,  you  won't  believe  this..  

in some ways, they are, and some ways, they're not; erik's been jewish in publications for over 40 years, and some writers call positive attention to this, whereas others do shit like this.

or how about erik going to jerusalem, denouncing religion as a human invention, and proclaiming mutants gods? lmao what?!?!?!?!?!

if you intend to read comics surrounding magneto, some writers handle his judaism very well and incorporate it appropriately into his character. others really, really do not, and do blatantly antisemitic things. you'll see the hitler comparison most frequently--and its usually by steve.