Kutipan Favorit 6c3b30

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Hi,” he says, erecting what he considers to be a particularly miraculous façade of cheeriness,

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you keep telling me not to do that, but, you see, it becomes a bit difficult when you’re, you know, sort of sitting there trying to reduce me to cinders with your eyes,

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Blather

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In spite of what all his survival instincts are screaming,

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Egregious

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He knows all too well what this is about, but there’s a small, pathetic part of him that doesn’t want to confront the thing just yet.

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in a moment of temporary insanity (the kind of ‘temporary’ insanity that he’s suffered from for his whole life), Charles puts himself in the way. Instantly, he’s reminded of just how short he is, how tall Erik is, and how loudly Erik’s knuckles crack when his hands clench into fists.

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Charles only caught it by chance three hours past deadline, long after they’d gone to press, and wow, was that not a pretty scene. Actually, it mostly involved Charles being very, very calm (read: ive aggressive), Erik being very, very not (read: just plain aggressive), and everyone else edging nervously towards the nearest exit until Charles

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gave up and went home in a huff to drink tea and fret.

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Sean and Hank eventually locked themselves in the IT office with three laptops and a liter of Mountain Dew and didn’t come back out for several hours. When they did, they looked unsurprisingly haggard, rubbing their faces sheepishly and itting that they had no fucking clue. And, okay, it is possible that Charles was not there to shield them from Erik’s

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unmitigated rage because he had by this point locked himself in a bathroom stall in order to breathe in peace, but he did eventually emerge, fend off the irate Erik, and suggest very, very calmly that perhaps everyone ought to go home now.

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Let’s just say that he’d rather not the rumor that she can crush a man’s skull between her thighs.

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He doesn’t philosophize, doesn’t dogmatize, doesn’t chop his life up into neat little mottos. He just does.

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Exchanging dubious looks, the interns droop back into their normal slouches, and Charles has to stifle another sigh. At least Logan’s methods improved their abysmal posture...but now is not the time

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Eventually, by some miracle of persistence, endless pestering, puppy eyes, sulking, pleading, and cajoling, Charles triumphed.

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but suffice to say that it very nearly ended very, very badly)

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After the first week, Erik ambushed Charles in the break room and asked him, grinning dryly, how exactly he’d managed to the pick four most dysfunctional kids in town.

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Dilapidated

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Charles says, briefly taking his eyes off the road to shoot a sympathetic glance at Janos, who steadfastly ignores him.

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Charles pulls the car to an abrupt stop, and from the back seat he hears Alex whistle under his breath. For once, Charles is inclined to agree with him.

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he says brightly, dodging around the squad car to try and get a better look at the imminent confrontation between the blitzed-out chemist and the sheriff

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he impromptu jousting match, but skids to a stop a few yards away and turns around to yell,

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flatly,

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he says brightly, dodging around the squad car to try and get a better look at the imminent confrontation between the blitzed-out chemist and the sheriff.

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Clint orders, and Charles finds himself being dragged backwards by his shirt collar.

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“Indeed,” Charles agrees vaguely, craning his neck and squinting into the brilliant morning sun.

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Charles smiles, innocent as can be, hands clasped behind his back like an angelic schoolboy.

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I will not suffer this affront to my manhood!

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Thor bellows, drowning out his enraged deputy.

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Predilection

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Azazel nods, something that might just be a smile flickering across his face.

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Charles says, unable to contain the triumphant grin making its way across his face.

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I thought you told me that you would dispense with these irritating people of news,

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“Well,” Erik sighs, heaving himself out of his chair (and Charles’ heart definitely doesn’t plummet, his stomach absolutely doesn’t wrench with an unexpected terror of being left),

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Erik is an enigma at best, maddeningly encouraging at worst, and about as emotionally responsive as a brick wall the rest of the time.

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Charles likes emotions, as horrible and clichéd and stereotypical as that is. He thinks they’re complicated and interesting and important, and most of the time it seems like Erik just doesn’t have them.

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But that’s rage for a purpose, not just rage for rage’s sake. Erik doesn’t feel things just to feel them; everything is there to be manipulated, channeled, melted down and twisted around into a shape that he likes, into a shape that works for him

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He worries about Erik a lot, for a ridiculous array of reasons.

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Erik tipped his head back and laughed, and Charles did his best not to be surprised by the vast cavern of his mouth, by the impossible long line of his throat.

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an order; before Charles knew what was happening, the handle had been jerked out of his hand

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and the suitcase was being wheeled away from him. Embarrassingly, he had to jog to catch up with Erik’s long strides.

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Funnily enough, he wasn’t the least bit surprised.

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His British-stereotype nicknames for Charles were getting progressively more and more offensive, but the aforementioned sense of self-preservation had thus far prevented him from objecting.

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Planes are his preferred mode of transportation.

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Dude’s got some deep-seated emotional issues about escaping or some shit like that,

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There was a pause punctuated by a few scratchy bits of static, during

which Charles tried desperately not to imagine the receiver rubbing against Erik’s unshaven jaw 

“I don’t fucking know,” Erik snapped, and Charles couldn’t stop himself from physically recoiling from his phone.

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Charles had already turned to make himself a cup of tea and berate himself for his failure when Erik’s voice rang out across the tiny room, surprising him.

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Erik orders brusquely,

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Strand bookstore tank top with a putting on some actual clothes other than a pair of boxers and a Strand bookstore tank top with a particularly nasty bleach stain, but stops in his tracks when he comes to the realization that he doesn’t actually have to go anywhere today and therefore has no need of grown-up clothes.

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Hank blinks slowly into the camera like a bat dazed by sunlight.

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Alex is sprawled in a desk chair, wheeling himself around the newsroom by pushing off of various surfaces, skidding across the carpeted floor, and laughing hysterically.

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But he’s such a nice guy; everyone says so, everyone he’s ever met or worked with or sat in a class with. He’s a nice guy with a nice smile and a nice laugh and nice, open face. The problem is that Charles doesn’t think he’s particularly nice. He smiles and compliments and jokes and offers everything to anyone because he’s dying to prove himself wrong, but he never quite manages it. A string of failed relationships and alienated friends show that he’s nothing if not great at pulling away at the crucial moment, at letting an angry lover walk out the door or sitting silent when a friend needs him to say something, anything. When it matters, he never knows what to do.