#threadmagneto

freakingpietro Erik had always cared deeply about his children, even if his lifestyle hadn't always allowed him to be close to them, and that had given them the opinion that he was selfish and didn't care for them. He knew them well enough to always know what they looked like, and Magda had kept him updated when she could, even though they couldn't always keep in reliable contact with him moving as much as he did. When he had seen miracle children reported and recognised the faces of his children, albeit older than last time he'd seen them. He recognised Pietro immediately, his striking silver white hair difficult to ignore, but Wanda was more difficult to recognise to him. She looked like Magda was all he could think. They were a miracle, but he couldn't say that he was surprised. The mutant gene was paternal, and he wasn't surprised that the twins had inherited it at all. All he knew was that now that his children were considered miracles, and they would likely need his help with what they could do.

Erik looked at him before nodding slightly. “Right… I won’t then, Charles. I’ll keep my distance.”

"Dancing is out of the question," Erik frowned, looking at the other and shaking his head. “I don’t dance, Pietro.”

ask-miss-mystique Erik woke to the sound of someone in their house. He feared the worst, naturally and looked around, hoping his mother was still asleep. She didn't need to be woken up; it would only make her more tired. Slowly he stood up and walked towards where the noise was. He knew he could protect himself and his family if something happened. He stayed quiet, looking around the small kitchen carefully.

"Charles," Erik grinned as he moved next to the other and sat close, purposefully invading the space of the other and leaning on his shoulder. Erik wasn’t so much drunk as tipsy and slightly annoyed, which always caused him to act strangely. He didn’t realise what he had been doing until his brain registered that his lips and tongue were making contact with Charles’ neck. Acting on impulse wasn’t something he always did, and when he was sober he was pretty sure he’d remember why.

So now he was in prison, which annoyed him a little, but there was nothing he could do except for wait out the sentence. He hoped that his cell mate wasn't someone terrible, or worse, annoying. A man could be driven to murder by annoying people. 

That was when he heard someone moving on the other side of the table and he looked up briefly, not saying anything.

"Charles?"