Disclaimer: X-Men is owned by Marvel
This will be Charles/Erik. Eventually.
Inspired by a prompt from Zimothy on her Tumblr. Title from Mumford & Sons, "I Gave You All". (I am also not sure if this will be serious or crack-ish, or both. Probably both. Also, I should probably finish my Star Trek WIPs before starting any new stories, but...oh, well.)
I don't usually go into his mind, for I'm far to fond of my sanity to risk it, but I've picked my way inside enough to know that Erik Lehnsherr wishes, sometimes, that he hadn't met Wade Wilson while in drag. Of course, that statement is only true if "sometimes" actually means "every single waking moment of his life and occasionally in non-nightmare dreams and also in a few of the nightmares". I have that effect. Did I give you permission to narrate? Nope, but I'm far wittier than you, Ice Titties. And more handsome. And I probably look even better in that bikini. But the boots might make my thighs look fat. Do you think I look fat? Oh, God, I'm fat, aren't I? Pay no attention to the man behind the mask! He is not fat! He is not making allusions to movies that aren't rated NC-17 for violence and/or sex which are the only things he watches because those are manly movies for manly men and he is a manly man! (I'm sorry Bea, dah-ling, I'll have a "Golden Girls" marathon soon and make it up to you.) Pay attention to Her Most Royal Majesty, the Frigid Queen. (And I bet she is frigid, if you know what I mean nudge nudge titter titter wink wink.) You should probably start over now.
I don't usually go into his mind, for I'm far to fond of my sanity to risk it, but I've picked my way inside enough to know that Erik Lehnsherr wishes, sometimes, that he hadn't met Wade Wilson while in drag. Compared to the maelstrom of anguish that makes up his inner mind and the plating of determination and cold ruthlessness he plates it in, that particular regret is one of the most positive thoughts he has. Yes, we get it, Princess, he's even more fucked-up than you, and probably "icier" – and what is it with you people? I mean – I saw you smile once or twice, but he just rearranges his face so it looks like he's going to tear your jugular out. With his teeth.
He had no issues with the wig, dress, or fishnets, and needed less practice to walk steadily in the heels than most women do, but he was not amused when he returned to HQ and was greeted thusly by our new recruit:
"Wow, you're Magneto, aren't you? Heh, Magneto – Mags – Maggie. You make a good Maggie. Hey! Maggie! Wanna come over to my place later, girl?"
Those words were accompanied by the few pelvic thrusts Wilson had time to preform before Magneto threw him through the wall with his swords.
It's been six years and Magneto and Deadpool are a terrifyingly brilliant team, Lehnsherr and Wilson are as close to being friends as two emotionally scarred people can be, and there are still incidents of extreme property and personal damage over the use of the name Maggie. Yup. You know, just yesterday he put a knife in my eye because he got a letter addressed to Mrs. Maggie Wilson. It's like he can't acknowledge his feminine side OR our epic bond. Maybe we should get him on Oprah. Or Dr. Phil. I like Oprah better – she's so amazing and smart and motivational – but Dr. Phil is a doctor. Or we could get him to talk to both of them. Or he could watch all the cute kitten videos on the internet! I saw this really adorable one earli – I MEAN I WAS WATCHING PORN. ME? FUZZEH THINGS? WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? (Hey, you, look up "never give up kitty" – awwwwwwww, look at that little guy….)
Erik Lehnsherr and Wade Wilson are an unstoppable force – I only wonder who is strong enough to be their immovable object, their balance, the wall they will throw themselves against. And I wonder if the world will survive such a clash.
Weeeeeell, maybe you and I can be an object. We could have kinky sex. I know you like it. What? Why are you looking at me like that? HEY! I liked my balls where they were! Fuck. It's going to take at least an hour for those to grow back. How about we just keep narrating together? I'm flattered by your attention, but I just don't think of you as anything other than a co-narrator. I know it's hard for you, but you must ignore your feelings for me.
Speaking of narrating, I'm kind of missing my boxes. They were yellow; I like yellow. (We all live on a yellow submarine, a yellow submarine, in an octopus's garden with our paperback writers back in the USSR…dah dah umm…Hey, Jude, hey, Eleanor, hey, Prudence, will you still love me if I take LSD…la dah…want a revolution…um… forgot the rest of the lyrics….)
But, see, this is what I do for you: white page, internet, fanfiction. Oh, wait, shit, I really didn't want to have to explain all this to Her Bitchiness – thanks for nothing, you seem like a sympathetic reader, get me talking, and now I have to lecture about the levels of reality as you perceive it and the fourth wall and meta-everything and that utterly horrible movie they made where they SEWED MY MOUTH SHUT. Seriously, who okayed that idea?
