#xlock

eldritch🔒 / eldritchlock

[pt: eldritch🔒 / eldritchlock. end pt]

no flag id. help is welcome.

flag colors taken from this (link) eldritch flag.

a [x]🔒 (link) term for when one identifies with, as, and/or connects to eldritchness in an elusive, mysterious, and secretive way.

if this term has already been coined, consider this my& version/an alt flag.

coined for Teeth.

tagging: @radiomogai, @everything-moqai, @thriftmogai, @obscurian, @imoga-pride, @beyondmogaiprideflags, @archive-of-our-terms, @fukousei, @themogaidragon, @mogaimogaimogai, @goatgai, @stranger-things-liom, @accessibilitea, @misc-id-pt, @trans-scriber, @idescription, @ranqai, @symblabel-terms (ask to be added or removed)

professorcfx:

Charles could hear it all. Every single thought. The serum had completely cleared from his system and his telepathy was incredibly sensitive after spending so long with it dulled and diluted. He could hear the dreams and the nightmares and the way Jim’s head swam with thought after thought.

                                                                                         It never stopped.

Every mind had time where it slows down and dips into a trail of absent thought of nothing and everything at the same time. Everyone except Charles and Jim— and Charles knew just how much that could drive a man mad.

The words went unsaid and that the words that were said contradicted Jim’s thoughts. His words screamed leave! but his thoughts whispered a question, a plea—

                                                                   Stay?

                                                                                    And Charles’ answer was of course.

                                                                  Yes.

  ”I can make it stop — I can take you   somewhere away from your own thoughts.”

                               He paused. Slightly shocked by the offering that was hanging on his lips.

  ”I can take you into one of my memories   it might give you a chance to breathe?”

     No, it never stopped, never completely. His mind was like a mad dog chasing it's own tail, thought after thought after mindwrecking thought, and although a huge part of him didn't want Charles, didn't want him around to witness, the promise of distraction was so...

                                                                                                            t e m p t i n g.

     For a long time Sherlock had been his best bet, his chance to break the circle long enough to focus on another (in)human being --- his (unwitting) ally against boredom, against the ebb and flow of madness. To hear someone actually offering to be at his side was new.

     "If this is a trick, Professor..."

     It was not so much a threat but a promise, a dark guarantee that Charles wouldn't live long enough to  r e g r e t  a possible mistake, but competing with that uproar of violent feelings there was also a quiet             

                                                                 ((thank you)).

     It was so very clear to Jim that Charles' offer wasn't easily made, that - apparently - inviting someone (Jim Moriarty) for a walk down memory lane was not a normal thing for Charles to do that Jim didn't seriously question the other man's motives. But for London's most dangerous man decision were never easy, no-no-no. This empty existence was full of people, ordinary people, who would have loved to end this King's reign.

Synonyms for “I love you”.

    Too many days without sleep, without a break from his never-pausing, always squirming mind, and, oh, how he hated them, those moments when Jim could feel his own guards slipping, his thoughts bleeding together like bad dreams. Was there a way to help?

                      ‘Yes, please.’

                                            ——  “No, thank you.” ——

                                                                  ’And why would you even want to help me, Professor?’

     Although he had merely thought those words and not voiced them in the quiet of his office, Jim grimaced, baring his teeth for a split-second. A mistake, a simple and ordinary mistake. How weak. Unforgivable. This was C h a r l e s—- Charles with not even the faintest trace of the drug in his system, in full possession of his p o w e r. “I… sincerely doubt that helping me with this particular problem would be very appealing to you and, to be quite honest, I also doubt that you actually could.”

     Liar, Liar, pants on fire— All he needed was a break from his own maelstrom mind, a chance to relax, to unwind.