Fanart and Drabble - Lensherr Family (Magneto, Quicksilver, Scarlett Witch, Polaris)
Crossposted to andthexmen
Title: April Showers(Art)/Spare the Rod(Drabble)
Summary: Wee!Maximoffs. Erik takes his children out to play in the rain.
Rating: Barely T for one swear
Characters; Wanda, Pietro, Lorna, Erik
Warnings: So sweet you may get cavities. I so should not love drawing the WATXM cast as kids as much as I do. And House of M domestic fluff. WTFself?
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Thought I'd hop aboard the art and drabble train that has been exploding on the andthexmen board this week. :) Umm... so... I kind of refuse to believe, in spite of everything, that Magneto is a complete jerkass to his children all the time.
“Management of many is the same as management of few. It is a matter of organization.” Erik reads the line for the third time, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and his forefinger. Rain rattles loudly on the metallic roof. He will have to build higher ceilings to mute the sound when the new shipment of ore arrives. Construction has been at a standstill for almost two weeks, supply boats unable to reach the island because of the tropical storm tearing up the coastline of the mainland. This translates to a dreary spring rain in Genosha, cold and relentless. The meagre population (less than sixty workers and Erik’s small family) have had nothing to do but wait. The food supplies are adequate, at least. It is merely the idleness that is needling everyone. He has been out among the people (it is important for morale.) They play cards and smoke and drink amongst themselves in the metal barracks; Erik returns to his own home, to his books and his children. (He longs for Raven to return, for adult conversation. She is the closest he has had to a companion since Charles.) The children are fussy from being kept indoors, inattentive to their lessons.
Lorna has been put down for her afternoon nap and the twins have been playing quietly for the last hour. Too quietly. As a general rule, they would have been laughing and shrieking, scrapping and screaming and waking their sister by now. They have a tendency to forget themselves if left to their own devices. They are only six, after all. Erik knows he should not expect so much of them. He debates whether or not he should go check on them, still, perhaps, overly worried because of last week. Maybe they are not feeling well.
As he rises from his chair, there is a faint knock at the door made by a small, hesitant fist. “Come in.”
Wanda and Pietro stand hand in hand just inside the doorway. “Hello father.” They speak the sentence in tandem, prim and clear. Erik has been working on annunciation with them. Wanda has her eyes on the floor; Pietro darts his back and forth between her and Erik.
“Hello children.” There is a certain formality between their exchanges, Erik knows, but there is no telling how their mutations will manifest. There is a chance they may become more powerful than him someday. It is important to establish his dominance early. Spare the rod; spoil the child. “How are you?”
“Bored,” Pietro blurts. Erik can relate. (It was troubling, how much of himself he saw in his son; it was always the negative traits that reflected back at him.)
Wanda looks scandalized at her brother. “Father,” she speaks quickly, as though trying to distract Erik from perhaps scolding Pietro for speaking so frankly, “we were hoping if... well... may we please go outside to play this afternoon?”
The question reeks of Pietro. He has put Wanda up to this; he is always the instigator. And Pietro knows Erik is more likely to say yes if Wanda asks. Erik has expressly told the children that they are not to go outside while the weather is poor. They are both getting over a cold. (Erik does not want a repeat of that horrible night last week, finding the twins huddled shivering together and crouping in Wanda’s bed, burning with 103 degree fevers. Terrifying how quickly the small cough and sniffles had escalated. Sitting on the bathroom floor, sponging them off as they cried miserably in the tub of luke-warm water, waiting for their temperatures to go down, cursing himself for not thinking to employ a paediatrician or even a medic on the island, listening to the storm howl outside and feeling rather out of his element. He had been half an hour away from bundling them up, gathering them in his arms and trying to fly to the mainland for proper medical attention, hurricane-warning be damned, when the fevers had broken, first Pietro’s and then Wanda’s, and the three of them had collapsed exhaustedly into Erik’s bed at five a.m., Pietro spooned around his sister and Erik holding them both. Lorna had awoken promptly at six to be fed and changed.)
Wanda and Pietro look up at Erik expectantly with the large blue eyes that came from their mother. Erik knows he should say no, that if he goes back on his word on this he is setting a precedent. He looks over at his armchair, book lying open and down on the arm, spine broken, on the same page he started on almost an hour ago. He listens to the rain pounding harshly on the roof. In the next room, Lorna begins to whimper softly, letting them know she has awakened. Erik sighs. There are times to spare the rod. “Go get on your boots.”
Title: April Showers(Art)/Spare the Rod(Drabble)
Summary: Wee!Maximoffs. Erik takes his children out to play in the rain.
Rating: Barely T for one swear
Characters; Wanda, Pietro, Lorna, Erik
Warnings: So sweet you may get cavities. I so should not love drawing the WATXM cast as kids as much as I do. And House of M domestic fluff. WTFself?
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Thought I'd hop aboard the art and drabble train that has been exploding on the andthexmen board this week. :) Umm... so... I kind of refuse to believe, in spite of everything, that Magneto is a complete jerkass to his children all the time.
“Management of many is the same as management of few. It is a matter of organization.” Erik reads the line for the third time, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and his forefinger. Rain rattles loudly on the metallic roof. He will have to build higher ceilings to mute the sound when the new shipment of ore arrives. Construction has been at a standstill for almost two weeks, supply boats unable to reach the island because of the tropical storm tearing up the coastline of the mainland. This translates to a dreary spring rain in Genosha, cold and relentless. The meagre population (less than sixty workers and Erik’s small family) have had nothing to do but wait. The food supplies are adequate, at least. It is merely the idleness that is needling everyone. He has been out among the people (it is important for morale.) They play cards and smoke and drink amongst themselves in the metal barracks; Erik returns to his own home, to his books and his children. (He longs for Raven to return, for adult conversation. She is the closest he has had to a companion since Charles.) The children are fussy from being kept indoors, inattentive to their lessons.
Lorna has been put down for her afternoon nap and the twins have been playing quietly for the last hour. Too quietly. As a general rule, they would have been laughing and shrieking, scrapping and screaming and waking their sister by now. They have a tendency to forget themselves if left to their own devices. They are only six, after all. Erik knows he should not expect so much of them. He debates whether or not he should go check on them, still, perhaps, overly worried because of last week. Maybe they are not feeling well.
As he rises from his chair, there is a faint knock at the door made by a small, hesitant fist. “Come in.”
Wanda and Pietro stand hand in hand just inside the doorway. “Hello father.” They speak the sentence in tandem, prim and clear. Erik has been working on annunciation with them. Wanda has her eyes on the floor; Pietro darts his back and forth between her and Erik.
“Hello children.” There is a certain formality between their exchanges, Erik knows, but there is no telling how their mutations will manifest. There is a chance they may become more powerful than him someday. It is important to establish his dominance early. Spare the rod; spoil the child. “How are you?”
“Bored,” Pietro blurts. Erik can relate. (It was troubling, how much of himself he saw in his son; it was always the negative traits that reflected back at him.)
Wanda looks scandalized at her brother. “Father,” she speaks quickly, as though trying to distract Erik from perhaps scolding Pietro for speaking so frankly, “we were hoping if... well... may we please go outside to play this afternoon?”
The question reeks of Pietro. He has put Wanda up to this; he is always the instigator. And Pietro knows Erik is more likely to say yes if Wanda asks. Erik has expressly told the children that they are not to go outside while the weather is poor. They are both getting over a cold. (Erik does not want a repeat of that horrible night last week, finding the twins huddled shivering together and crouping in Wanda’s bed, burning with 103 degree fevers. Terrifying how quickly the small cough and sniffles had escalated. Sitting on the bathroom floor, sponging them off as they cried miserably in the tub of luke-warm water, waiting for their temperatures to go down, cursing himself for not thinking to employ a paediatrician or even a medic on the island, listening to the storm howl outside and feeling rather out of his element. He had been half an hour away from bundling them up, gathering them in his arms and trying to fly to the mainland for proper medical attention, hurricane-warning be damned, when the fevers had broken, first Pietro’s and then Wanda’s, and the three of them had collapsed exhaustedly into Erik’s bed at five a.m., Pietro spooned around his sister and Erik holding them both. Lorna had awoken promptly at six to be fed and changed.)
Wanda and Pietro look up at Erik expectantly with the large blue eyes that came from their mother. Erik knows he should say no, that if he goes back on his word on this he is setting a precedent. He looks over at his armchair, book lying open and down on the arm, spine broken, on the same page he started on almost an hour ago. He listens to the rain pounding harshly on the roof. In the next room, Lorna begins to whimper softly, letting them know she has awakened. Erik sighs. There are times to spare the rod. “Go get on your boots.”