#disintegrativeruin

♔ an angry text

[text] you dont stop to think about the effects of your actions on other do you[text] you dont stop to think about that before you go charging half cocked into a fight and that kills me josephine it fuckin kills me every time[text] because one night a midnight bandage run isnt going to cut it and im going to lose you to your own stupidity

♣ a text not meant for you

[text] i was thinking about swinging by the mansion and thought maybe id see if you wanted to go for a walk or for a lunch run or something but if not thats cool ill wait to hear back from you[text] sorry that wasnt for you j

✘ a text that should never have been sent

[text] im not as strong as you think i am and as close as we are im scared to let you see me at my weakest

√ a long-winded confession text

[text] ok so i feel like im the most selfish bastard on the planet. it just sucks so bad to see her with someone else. im glad to see her happy and smiling and all of course but damn josephine. i just cant think of how anyone else could love her as much as i do. no one will ever be good enough for her in my eyes and thats not fair to her.

☠ a misguided advice text

[text] forget boulderballs j hes not worth it if he comes back kick his ass to the curb you dont need that poison in your life

☢ a desperate text

[text] hel elp me imstuck . bleding.

☼ a congratulatory text

❛ meme | accepting

♎ - what is one thing you love about your writing?

[ He's sitting on the floor in front of her when he feels her hands in his hair, tugging gently. ]

k-i-s-s-i-n-g | firm kiss

he’s more and more on edge thesedays. colder, more distant. fearfulof second guessing himself, fearful -- in a way he can't even admit to mystique -- of the doubt that could nestle in him the shape of charles xavier's benign smile. 

this small sacrifice, losing westchester for san marco, isn't the stuff of icons. this personal, domestic martyrdom isn't noteworthy. his mythology won't include how difficult it was -- could be, will be -- to sacrifice charles' good graces, to forfeit his laugh or his groggy morning-tea wit. this isn't the stuff of icons.

the uncertainty of what's going to happen hangs over them like a thunderstorm,shadowing everything, the cold of it raising the goosebumps on erik's forearms.  

he stands in the open doorway of charles'study watching his ducked head, watchingthe loops of his handwriting in the movement of his wrist. 

he thinks of the thunderstorm. 

he thinks of his goosebumps.

his weight shifts. creaks the floorboard. charles looks up.

it takes him eight seconds to cross theroom and kiss him. the corner of his mouth.fingers at his chin, tilting his head. it takeshim two seconds to pull back. a few moreto attempt to read his expression.four to leave and shut the door behind him.

he prefers not to call what he’s doing in josephine’s apartment ‘hiding’, but essentially that’s what it is. avoiding. a day of peace and quiet is a blessinghe can't afford, but one he gives himselfout of spite for how little progress they seem to be making these days.

he doesn’t think of her coming home from a mission. he doesn’t think about the aftermathof what they do touching this cave of domesticity that he's treating like a brief retreat. 

it jars him. it lends a foreign kindness to the way he presses a cold cloth against her bust lip.  he finds himself surprised by his sincerity whenhe asks,