#love you charles im so sorry for making you said i just want edwin hold you

[williamvapespeare]

i was tagged in "wip wunday" by the lovely @emryses - thank you so much!! :) and to this i say, be careful what you wish for here is the first line of a new fic:

Charles stole his dad’s cigarettes exactly once, when he was 14.

sorry sorry have a moment of fragile tenuous intimacy from a different future fic because Charles deserves to be cared about:

Eventually, Edwin breaks the tenuous thing between them, cautious as he can be.  “Charles?” he asks.  Charles startles a little, as if he’s forgotten he wasn’t alone, or at least forgotten that speech was an option. His hand tightens around Edwin’s in an odd, contradictory reflex.  Charles favours him with a little hmm of a sound, sniffs a bit.  Edwin thinks back to the Devlin House and that horrible night below the lighthouse, and tries his best to be delicate.  “Is it, ah, the dust again?”  Charles laughs and it comes out watery and unamused.  “Nah, mate. ‘m crying.”  And the admission - because that’s what it is, he knows, an admission - lays Edwin bare and leaves him blinking.

i'm tagging @many-gay-magpies @dont-offend-the-bees @manicpixiedreamedwins @lesamis @shadowquill17 and anyone else who desires to do this!!!

[thorne93]

The Right Path (Part 1)

Prompt: (From request) Hi! I was wondering, would you it be okay to request a Charles Xavier x telepath!reader? Where they have a mind link since their ability first showed up and so they already know each other even before theyve actually met and then he finds her when he first uses Cerebo and he and Erik go to her first?? Its an idea ive had for a while, but im not nearly an amazing writer like you!

Word Count: 1903

Warning: language (maybe??), child abuse, mental and physical abuse, depression…

Note: I LOVED this request. Thank you for sending it in. I am so sorry it took so long to write. I hope I did it justice dear. Plus, thank you for the super sweet note ; ) Beta’d by none other than @like-a-bag-of-potatoes

Forever Tags: @capsmuscles @cocosierra94 @essie1876 @magpiegirl80 @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @harleyquinnandscarletwitch @iamwarrenspeace @marvel-imagines-yes-please @superwholocked527 @myparadise1982sand @missinstantgratification @thejemersoninferno @rda1989 @marvelloushamilton @munlis @thefridgeismybestie @bubblyanarocks3 @random-fluffy-pink-unicorn @hardcollectionworldtrash @igiveupicantthinkofausername @kaliforniacoastalteens @feelmyroarrrr​ @kaeling

James McAvoy:  @bohemianrhapsody86 @lenawiinchester

Charles Xavier: @bohemianrhapsody86 @lenawiinchester

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Comical. That was the word Charles Xavier would use to describe the dream he had the night before. There were several figures, some with faces, some that seemed blurry. But he didn’t recognize any of them, a single one, or the places he went in the dream. Everything about it was absurd. He was flying in a grocery store, and the car he went to in the dream turned into a metal dragon.

Preposterous.

But something ate at him…The dream didn’t feel like it was his. He felt…alien…invasive. Perhaps his powers were acting up in his sleep, he thought. So over breakfast, he asked his oldest friend and nearly a sister, Raven, if she had any dreams last night.

“No, why?” she asked as she leaned over a cup of coffee, her elbows on the table while steam rose from her mug.

“I had a dream or…I saw a dream, I’m not entirely sure,” Charles confessed as he frowned down at the island in the kitchen.

“Your mind playing tricks on you?” Raven teased as she smiled before taking a sip of the hot beverage. Charles offered a fleeting smile as a response, but was entirely too obsessed with this.

The next night, another dream happened. Again, he recognized no one, no places, not the voices - none of it. How could this be? Sure, he could read minds, even put thoughts in minds, even make himself seemingly appear, and stop time…But he never had his unconscious mind seek out other minds. This was new.

A week or so went by and only one or two more dreams came to him that he could tell weren’t his. He could tell which ones were. The ones about a thesis in his future that he would undoubtedly fret over, the ones about worrying about getting into graduate school, the ones about his parents, the ones with Raven…But never these strange and mysterious dreams of things he knew nothing about.

He decided to experiment.

One Friday night when he didn’t have to be anywhere the next morning, he stayed up. He sat up in his chair in his room all night, waiting for the dream to hit his mind, to ebb at his consciousness.

When it actually worked, he thought he would shout in success, but instead of possibly ruining this, he remained calm and kept his mind relaxed. It wasn’t his dream. Like all dreams, it started in the middle of a story. Someone, a woman, well a young woman, was walking through a house, Charles tried to walk towards her in her mind, but so far he was an observer. Until she looked at him, and then the dream stopped. His eyes flew open with exhilaration. It wasn’t much, but it was progress…

——————-

Your dreams were always weird, sure. You dreamed of zombies, libraries, flying, buying cars you couldn’t afford. If it was outlandish, you dreamt it. The sky was the limit.

But lately, a mysterious, handsome man was appearing in your dreams. You’d never seen him before. At least, you didn’t think you had. You thought you would remember that chestnut hair, striking blue eyes, and creamy complexion. He was stunning. But why were you dreaming of him? Everyone else in your dream seemed…irrelevant, except him. He seemed to always stand out like a beacon.

Over the course of a few weeks it went from him just appearing, to him trying to talk to you but it seemed every time he tried to talk to you, the dream ended or shifted and he disappeared. At first you thought nothing of it, but then it started to be more and more irritating. But soon, the mysterious dream man was the last thing on your mind as life got worse for you.

You suppose you were seventeen when it started. The voices, that is. The first occurrence was at home, at dinner. Your mom was grabbing more napkins when you heard her say, “I wish Edwin would help out more.”

“He’s had a rough day at work,” you responded, trying to defend your father as you stabbed at your green beans.

Your mom spun from the sink where she stood.

“Who has?” she asked and you looked up in confusion to meet two pairs of equally perplexed eyes.

“Uh, Dad,” you answered uncertainly. “Didn’t you just say you wished he would help out more?”

That’s when a look of pure horror lashed across your mother’s face, clashing with her perfect curls, makeup, and strand of pearls.

“No…No I didn’t say that,” she retorted, staring down at you as if you’d just kicked the dog and told your teacher were to shove it. You slunk away from the expression on her face. “What kind of a person can do that?” she thought. You knew she was thinking it because she was looking straight at you, not moving her mouth, yet you heard her voice in your head.  

Your father frowned at you, peering at you as if you’d grown several heads.

“What kind of demonic power is this?” he thought as his eyes bored holes into your very soul .

“Mom, Dad…please…” you begged suddenly, tears pricking your eyes as your heart started to race. “I don’t know what’s happening to me,” you claimed as you looked up at them, pleading in your eyes.

“Now, that’s close enough,” your mother warned as she scooted along the counter, away from you, and your father got up to join her. Their faces told you everything, you didn’t even have to listen to their thoughts to sort it out for yourself that they were afraid of you, scared of you…starting to resent you.

“Mom?” you said, reaching towards her in fear.

“You just…you stay over there,” she warned.

“We’ll have no black magic Satanic worshiping in this house young lady!” your father bellowed as he went over to you and grabbed your arm and pulled you to the bathroom.

“No! Dad! No! Please!” you screamed as you fought him but he was double your size and strength.

He forced you into the bathroom, whipped off his belt, and asked, “Are you consorting with the Devil?”  he asked.

“No!” you insisted, your cheeks red and hot and wet from all the crying you were doing as you gripped the sink.

“Liar!” he accused as he folded the belt in half, pulled his arm back, and slapped the leather material against your behind and upper thighs. “Ten for every prayer you should say for working with Satan.”

Whack…Whack…Whack.

Each slap stung worse than the last, as the leather cracked around your tender skin and caught your dress.

When he was done, you were drug up to your room and told to stay there until you could be a good child again. You wept into your pillow for hours and hours.

From there, things only got worse…

At school, you thought it would be a handy tool to have to read people’s minds. Just read the teacher’s minds or the student’s minds for answers to things you didn’t know. If this…ability was going to come on without your permission and there was no way to control or stop the ever constant stream of voices in your head, you could at least try to sort through the noise to help you, right?

Wrong…So very, very wrong you were.

Instead of helping you, you now heard what people really thought of you. Your best friends secretly pitied you. Strangers in the halls sneered at your clothing, your intelligence was either mocked or people were highly jealous of it, teachers thought you were too bright for a woman. Boys thought lude things about you as they eyed you and talked to you. Nothing was sacred. You heard judgement, jealousy, hatred, and lust from every corner of the school. It wasn’t like what you thought it would be at all.

Naturally, you distanced yourself from friends, companions, anyone. Your family feared you and when you came home, there was a plate of food for you, wrapped up on the table, that you were to take to your room. This was the routine every night. Your parents thought if you weren’t near them you couldn’t hear their thoughts, but they were mistaken. You could hear them just as clearly as if you were talking to them in the same room. They wanted nothing to do with you. Every so often, your father would ask you if you could hear thoughts again, and since you were raised to not lie, you would tell him the truth, resulting in another whipping.

Without family to enjoy time around, friends to socialize with, you receded into your own mind…rather ironic since you could literally jump from mind to mind. But you didn’t want to. You wanted nothing to do with the negativity, the darkness, the cruelty of your peers. So you focused on your studies, it was all you had left. You were a fairly good student before this…ability took over your life, but now it was your only companion.

Until the mysterious dream man started to appear again several months after the first few occurrences.

He stopped trying to talk to you, instead, he would hold up signs.

“I’m Charles Xavier,” he introduced on one night, holding a sign. You went to say hello but you couldn’t. Unfortunately for you, you could not lucid dream, and it seemed any sort of direct contact between you two always upset the course of the dream.

A week later, he held up a sign that said, “What’s your name?” But you still could not answer him. Try and try as you might, the dream world would do what it wanted and your bizarre dreams would still happen on the same course they were intended to go on.

Two weeks later, he held up a sign saying he was twenty-one. Only four years older than you, now that you had turned eighteen. It was still very unnerving. Was this man real? Was he just something your mind made up? Was he a fragment of someone else’s mind that you had picked up on and your mind was manifesting him into some dream character? If that were the case, then why did he show up without fail as the most predominant feature of your dream, when he did show up? It would seem like if he were just part of another dream, he would be like all your other dreams, where certain people were there sometimes, then other times they weren’t. But he seemed to show up rather often, and every time every feature of him was so real, as if he were standing right in front of you. Most of the time in your dreams you couldn’t feel, smell, or sense things. But him, he was tangible. In the dream you could feel his presence, smell his cologne, see his stubble, if he had it. After a few more instances of him appearing in your dreams, you realized this only happened on Friday or Saturday…You weren’t sure why. You tried to figure out why he only seemed to show up on weekends. There didn’t seem to be a logical explanation for that.

But nothing was logical, was it? Not when it came to what you were capable of.