4. Afraid

She often wonders if he is just as afraid of this as she is; if he thinks the same things she does but she can’t bring herself to ask. As if asking makes it even more ludicrous she’s scared. It strikes her at moments when she can’t sleep, and the world is forced through her head. It’s the uncertainty of this all that has her gripping all the tighter. She knows how these things end, and she afraid to admit that she’s not ready for the crash and burn. She’s not willing to see it burn up in smoke and hellfire. She doesn’t tell him these things cross her mind, his shoulders are heavy enough without her heaving doubts upon them. She often wonders if this is what it’s supposed to be like. That having that nagging doubt, the self-sabotaging pattern she so quickly falls into is just the natural way it works. She wouldn’t know, of course, it’s all very raw, new and dangerous with him. She often slips into delusions that she could be that girl for more than just one night, more than just one fling for someone as she often was before him. But she’s not, its just buried and latent with him or so she thinks. She’s the girl you seek when you’re lonely and drunk. She’s the woman you call when you want something handled quietly. She’s the passing fling and that one wild night. She was toxic. Everything she touches, ever ounce of happiness is fleeting because she gets scared it won’t last. A part of her makes sure it doesn’t last. And perhaps eventually it’ll happen with him as well.

She thinks of all of this while silently beside him. Listening to his breathing, feeling an arm wrap around her. It’s a comfort, but still, she’s afraid, and he’ll never know.

5. Aggravated

A huff in aggravation was all she gave him, chosen as it was better than speaking what she wanted to say. 

6.  Amazed

For a moment she stared in awe motionless, blinking several times to grapple with the feeling that he hadn’t pushed her away, pitying look aside, heart laboring in her chest. “Come here” He’d asked, hands tugging on hers to bring her into his chest. Apparently, you could surprise a telepath. She blinked simply amazed at him. “W-what?” She stared bewildered and dazed, blinking several times as if this was a dream as if maybe she’d made him say it.

7. Amused

She tried to muffle the laugh as it bubbled from her but a few giggles slipped out as he reentered the room. A slow clap and she couldn’t help the amused smirk on her face. “Little flat on the chorus, darling. Maybe pick a different song besides Let It Go.”

8. Angered [ throwback to shattered Emma, that doesn’t actually apply but eyyyy technicalities and deal with it ]

Silence engulfed them as they stared at each other, her anger bubbling just below the surface as his displayed in the tick of a jaw or coil of a muscle as a hand raked through his hair. She didn’t need this now. After everything, she’d just gone through? Sure, she understood his side of things, it was hard not to, but that didn’t mean he was in the right. All she had ever tried to do was protect him, protect all of them, and he was the one who was angry? He was fuming in the corner, back to her now as she glared. “Get. Out.” It wasn’t a yell or a scream, no it left her lips in a quiet fury of demand. She was done with the conversation and attempting calm level-headedness on the hospital bed, feeling achy and tired and broken. She didn’t need him to remind her what a bang-up job she’d done, what a bloody mess the world had become. She knew already. He’d done his job, that was what mattered. She didn’t look at him them, couldn’t stomach it. “I said get out!” She hissed when he hadn’t moved.

9. Anxious [ like future them…5+ years? Idk roll with it ]

Gnawing at her bottom lip, Emma swallowed the lump in her throat. Unease was not a good look on her, and it showed. Every time doctor made a slight noise neither confirming or denying it her heart dropped. She was going to be sick, the sting of bile slowing crawling up her throat. He wasn’t there though…He was outside, mind flurrying just as fast as hers, pacing back and forth, pressing against her but she doesn’t let him in. Doesn’ rummage through his either. Maybe we’re ready, right? But– It’s a flashing neon sign. But everything. But what if this or that, flashes across her mind, making it all that more real.

The snap of rubber gloves draws her back into the sterile room. Wide eyes and feigning a calm expression, Emma met the smiling face of the doctor. She’s not ready for the news she realizes. She’s not willing to think, to hope that maybe this is it. She can’t ignore the flutter at the possibility—one she foolishly buys into, as she scolds herself to remind impassive—that this is it. All the years of considering it a different life then she wanted was given. But she had wanted it, how many times as a little girl had she fantasized it until she had that fantasy come crashing down, and she had to come to terms it wasn’t for her. And that that was okay. That was someone else life. A different Emma. All the arguments late at night that leave her licking her wounds alone in bed, or walking to somewhere unknown to cool down and give him space. He didn’t understand why it was such a heated topic and she couldn’t express it eloquently enough to make him. It boils down to fear, anxieties and being overwhelmed.

Her fingers twisted around each other on the paper gown as she sat there. “…And?” She didn’t have the guts to read the doctor’s mind. That would be too quick to end the suffering. A little anxiety never killed anyone, right? Body tense with anticipation for the blow that would never come. She hates crying; she finds it’s just a silly thing to do but with her hand on her mouth, hiding the smile, she feels the pinpricks of tears. She hears the shuffle of feet across the floor not looking away from where her gaze has settled before his mind brushes hers.  She doesn’t go much further than that as her mind stretches and thins,  going every which direction in mere moments with everything that needed to be done. An endless list that made her heart thud and stomach drop. Their lives were dangerous, and threats loomed over them. What kind of people were they bringing a life into the world like that? How selfish could she be to not care? She doesn’t need to see his face to know he’s going every possible outcome( good and bad ), it’s the way his mind works.  “We are so screwed…” She managed a gargled laugh, body still tense with a worry of what if’s and could be’s because she can’t help it.

10. Aroused

He did something to her. Electricity in her veins, goosebumps spreading like wildfire at the breath on her neck. Blood boiling in a way she couldn’t explain. Featherlike touches ignited a hungry that never seemed to be truly seated around him. All he had to do was touch her, and she was back there heart racing.  And then he was gone, standing at the foot of the bed, replacing his shirt from the day before making ready to leave.

He was killing her. And she loved every blissful moment of torture. Lips pulled up in a smirk she looked at him., knees pressing into the mattress as she moved toward him. “Skip class.” Her fingers pulled at the drawstrings of his sweat, tugging him toward her. “Call in sick, play hooky” She pleaded smirking, bottom lip sucked between her teeth as she pulled him even closer. “I think you might have caught a cold and the girlfriend that I am has to nurse you back to health.” 

11. Ashamed [ set during that mind thing we need to finish.]

She couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t meet his eyes, even if they were shielded from her. It ran deep this time, she was disgusted with herself more than he seemed to be. She had chosen to follow Shaw. Had agreed to the terms and conditions without hesitation. Chosen that life, would do it again because what other life was there for her? Shaw had opened a door for her, and she the naive, desperate girl had followed him through it. Selling her soul to the silver tongue devil. That didn’t stop the burn of shame she felt showing him what had gone on past those closed doors. Flashes of tangled bodies, the smell of alcohol and cologne, the hedonistic rules they all lived by, but worst of all was when she sat there, sipping champagne after being chosen for White Queen over Rebecca and Anne.

They had been her friends, like sisters she’d never had, and the sweetest of rivals and he’d corrupted them one by one. In his words teaching them to play, his rules and his game. They’d been so close but that hadn’t mattered to her then. When Shaw had leaned over toward her, whispering in her ear  sending shiver racing down her spine ( at the time they had been welcomed) so much they still burned with the sounds ‘Do you want to be a Queen?’, She had that quiet triumph on her face and a smug ‘I don’t find that too disagreeable.’ Not gloating but the victor in all sense of the word. But there was a catch. Always a price to pay. Always too steep. One she’d eventually own up with her life when the time came. They had been her friends, they’d shared everything from makeup to fear and hopes and dreams, but she’d known then what she could see now. They were always in the way of her goal. Always the competition. He never intended it any other way. Pick. Like a sophie’s choice who live and who died. ‘Frankly, I can’t bring myself to care either way’ it echoed around her, reverberating off the walls of her mind. Those were her words, she frankly couldn’t care either way. And it had been true at that moment. She could feel the guilt wrap around her as if it had arms. Cold and dead.

She couldn’t face the memory as the wet noises echoed around them. Couldn’t look at her old self as she sat there on the throne like chair, legs crossed sipping the inferior Bordeaux as if it were another day. And it was. Just another day, as far as she was concerned.

“Now you know…” she spoke to the ground. It wasn’t what he did to her that the emotion sprung from, it wasn’t even what he had made her do. It sprung from the fact that it was what he made her want to do. She’d grown since then. Coming here under false pretenses, all the while using it as an escape from Shaw. She never intended to stay long, the dutiful White Queen needed her Black King—until she didn’t. Until she’d found something better. “There are days I can’t look at myself in the mirror because I know what I’ll see when I do.” It’s not something she can openly admit to him, the words are forced and take minutes to come out. It’s her weakness, her burden to carry.

12. Awe

Somehow this was what she wanted. Where she wanted to be. Bugs and God knew what else crawling around under them, she didn’t care. She turned to look up at him, nestled against him as the fridge air whipped past them. The tension eased in his features, a smile fighting to make way onto his face. Dare she say it was worth whatever had just moved over her pants leg. This, this with his was worth it.  It settled deep inside her. And that was far more astonishing than the view. “It really is beautiful” She murmured gaze up toward the sky as purple and green flashed and danced across the sky. She’d been all over the world, and nothing was quite as awe-inspiring at what he’d showed her.

13. Betrayed

It was a dull throb now. Turning worse and worse, of course, when she gave it more thought. She’d trusted him, let him in, and this was what she was left with? A hole where a frozen heart should be. Served her right for being so careless with her emotions. “I trusted you!” It’s not a scream though she wants to. She had trusted him with everything, and it was in shambles.Shattered on the floor between them. Icy gaze like daggers at his back as he turned away from her. A hand fisted at her side. “Go to hell.” She wants to scream at him, but she doesn’t form the words.

14. Bitter [ k yeah IDK what this is… ]

“I-No I’m not bitter” The word burned on her tongue as she stood there, arms crossed, “I’m just a little upset that Cordelia was invited to it and not me. I think I get to be…” She tossed the paper down on the bed looking at him. “If I were bitter, I would go and make a fuss. I have no intention of doing so, so ha.” She had every intention of doing so. 

15. Blissful [ we getting sappy now. ]

This was it. All the planning, all the bridezilla moments with Ty, tears when things hadn’t gone perfectly (she blamed Cordelia on that account), and it all led to this exact moment. Her hand snaked down the front of the gown. No, she wasn’t nervous that had come hours before as her hair set in curlers and she talked with the bridal party. The forceful back and forth, the pacing in front of the mirror, as the doubts of everyone, including him echoed in her head. She wanted to shut it off. Just for one damn day. Her day. But the moment she’d seen herself dress, hair styled, makeup in place it all felt right. Felt where she needed to be. For once, she thought she’d done something right and had mainted it.

She could hear them down on the grounds; the melodic quartet playing was dull as it filled the open air outside. She rocked slightly on her heels. A quick check over the bridal party, stopping to fix Ty’s ineptitude at tying his tie, and she was looking at them all. She shared a knowing look with the girls, who were behaving as well as she could ask. Celeste and Esme were fiddling with their bouquets witty remarks only being shared mentally and not verbally. Baby steps.

A shallow breath left her, and the onset of panic bloomed. When had she gotten like this? She wondered hearing the procession music start. Now or never. Fight or flight. She was inches from the door, could slip out and not a soul would know. As tempting as it was, one glance at Cordelia’s spunky hair and a thumbs up, Emma bit the inside of her cheek. Why’d she let her join, she wasn’t sure. Something about family, need to have some blood  family there to rpove a point. Not that her blood family mattered. She’d replaced them with everyone else who sat in the white chairs on either side of the asile. For a second she closed her eyes, breathing slowly, feeling the gruff hand thread through her arm. Well, he was certainly old enough to be her father, she thought with a wicked smile. He’d slice her to ribbons when if he knew. She nodded to the unasked question.

All eyes on her, Emma held her chin high, white roses in hand, as she moved gracefully down the aisle. The crowded faded away the closer she drew gaze locked on him. This was what bliss felt like.

16. Bored

She sighed, long and drawn out. How many times had she read the same passage of this paper? Her brain was turning to mush. “How much longer,” She whined head tilting back to meet his headboard, “I’m hopelessly bored, and you should fix that.” She spared him a side glance smiling.

17. Breathless

The sound of gasping laughter filled the room, followed promptly but a strangled scream to be released and how it wasn’t funny. It wasn’t that funny, as tears collected in the corner of her eyes as she fought to capture his hands and stop his fingers from playing against her exposed ribcage and stomach. Her knees moved to block him from hovering, but it was to no avail. Her abs hurt, not from his fingers tickling her, bt from laughing so hard. “Scott!–“She whined trying to curl herself inward, rolling on her side to get away from him. “I can’t breathe…I can’t breathe” The laughter had died down as she panted to find her voice, his hands holding her hips, broad smile looking down at her. A sigh of relief left her “I hate you.” She stated breathlessly smile still on her face

18. Cheerful 

She sat at the edge of the bed, kicking off her cheer shoes. Maybe it was the exercise or the fact that for once the day hadn’t been all headaches, SHIELD and stupid people that had left her in a cheerful mood. She bounced slightly on the mattress toward him. “Miss me?”

19.Comfortable

A content moan left her as the smell of coffee grounds hit her nose. Hair haphazardly tossed into a bun, she staggered out of her room tugging down his shirt over her torso, sweats bagging on her. As much as she hated them, they were by far more comfortable than anything she owned. Not that she’d ever tell him that. If he asked it was the first thing she grabbed after her shower. Not a complete lie.

“Mmm, you know me too well…Unless this was for someone else?” She smiled, knowing it wasn’t before slipping into a seat at the counter, lifting the steaming cup to her lips  eyes on the toast before her. It was more than just the clothing she realized she was comfortable with. But she shook those thoughts away as she took a long inhale of the steam and fragrance of coffee. Accepting she had gotten comfortable with someone was a big step, and she wasn’t going to ruin the moment.

20. Concerned [ this…probs more comic canon Or a mission gone bad idk ]

“Scott?” It’s a tentative plea for acknowledgment, one she doesn’t wait for the answer to before pushing the door open. It makes sense, and she understands, but that doesn’t ease how she feels. She sits beside him as he rubs at his eyes. Hands dropping in front of him, his head hangs.  He hasn’t spoken to her yet, hasn’t even looked at her. But she knows he will eventually. When he’s done picking apart what just happened, analyzing it, and then berating himself that he could do better. A few new bumps and bruise decorate the side of his jaw and hands, she feels them as her hand slides over them. She can’t say anything to him to make it better or ease the pain or make sense of it all. He wouldn’t expect her too. But that doesn’t make the knot in her stomach lessen, or the creases that have formed as her lips thin into a line of concern go away. “You’re only human.” She offers, before her hand is moving his chin toward her  forcing him look at her, needing him to understand that people make mistakes, people die and there isn’t a damn thing one can do about it to make it better. She’s worried about him, worried about what it’ll do to him later if left alone.

21. Confident

She’s leaning against the table, one leg bent the other planted on the ground, arms folded over her torso. He’s talking beside her, facing the other direction in a room full of others. She’s not listening to a word he’s saying, but that’s not what’s important. It’s how he’s saying it.  The others in the room and still, hanging on his words, diligently following along, she can feel their minds pressed against her own. But she doesn’t care about that either. Her head turns toward him, slightly, a slight smirk on her face. He exuded confidence outwardly, but inwardly doubts swam, her hand dropped to his, sliding over it wordlessly. She’d heard this before as he mumbled what he was going to say. A squeeze in reassurance. ‘Show them what it means to be a leader, darling ‘ She whispered to his mind sure to show him just how assured she was in his ability to be just that.

22. Confused

“I—wait  what?” She asked, head poking out from behind the partially closed door, the cap of her mascara held squarely between her teeth. Her brow knitted in concentrating trying to make sense of his words. She had heard him mumble about something or other, if she were honest she wasn’t exactly paying attention to focused on putting her makeup on to listen until he’d said the words ‘Gone…Alex… Stark’ Her brow arched the quizzical expression clear. “Yeah, no…say that again?”

23. Content

A sigh fluttered past her, head against his arm, eyelids heavy with sleep. Having spent far too much time in the sun, drinking, eating and laughing, Emma didn’t honestly care what else happened. She could hear Alex in the house, talking about food—ordering food?—something dealing with food. Dogs barking down the street and couldn’t get herself to move from the hammock. They probably should have moved inside. Should have at least made and attempt not to get so relaxed. After all, it’d been longer than five minutes they’d said.

Opening one  eye to steal a glance, Emma softly chuckled at Scott completely out. She was far too content to move or think about moving. Alex could wake them later if he wanted.

24. Cruel

She was in a mood. Needless picking fights, goading anyone who dared breathe in her direction. Scott was no different. He could handle it though, deep down she knew it. She narrowed her gaze at him from over her computer screen. They’d had this fight a million times already, and it got them nowhere. “Why. Why do you have to do that?” She sighed almost in exasperation. “What makes you think that today, of all days, will magically be the day that I come on board huh?” The MacBook screen is lowered, so she’s not tempted to just ignore the conversation. “Look,” the laptop is now on the bed beside her, off her lap. A cold gaze leveled at him. “I get it. You’re…you, and there’s not a damn thing we can do to change that.” Her hand waved in the air at the aloofness of the words, because that wasn’t quite what she wanted to say. “But honestly, Scott, the stoic born leader shit might work with the rest of the staffers here but not me. I see right through to what it really is, you’re just bloody scare, a hesitant boy trying to fill a man’s shoes.” She’s unnecessarily cruel with her words, picking at the insecurities because he’s previous words had hurt—whether she admitted it or not—her. “So stop.” It’s a pointless argument and one she can’t bring herself to care about. She’s tired, and he’s tired and their fighting over silly things. Stupid things that didn’t actually matter.

25. Crushed [ i dont like these feelsy ones…..]

Sitting, legs folded over on another, she stares at him. The mattress bending to her weight and then his as she moves. Exasperation clear. “…no.” She had said. Not a question. Not a statement with some wiggle room to be budged. It’s a finality. Cold and hard. It crushes her to say it. To take the option off the table once again, they’ll revisit it eventually, but until then her answer is law. She can’t help the nature of her voice. The detached, unobtainable coldness that seeped in with the topic. It hurts her to admit it. And she knows he wants a family, she does too, but she can’t escape the reality of the problem. She was her father’s daughter…

His face falls before a hand scrubs down it. He’s crushed too, she can feel it as it washes over her. She can’t offer an explanation as to why. He wouldn’t understand—she assumes, never giving him a chance to—or try to find the silver lining in it all. “I-“ She sighed, “I’m sorry. Just…no.” She can’t put herself through that kind of grief. It’d break her. The false hope of having kids. She chews her lip. “We have a school full of children.” It’s her silly attempt at being reasonable. Having their own made all the difference in the world.

26. Dejected [ this, depressed and despairing are like the same damn emotion so soz they suck ]

“Don’t…please” She needs to deal with it on her own. The feelings boil inside and she can’t express it as she needs to. It shouldn’t have bothered her but dejection, with a heaping helping of guilt was a hard pill to swallow. She doesn’t want to hear words of comfort or lies it’ll be okay. She knows it won’t. There’s nothing that can make burying a student better. “I—I need time. Just, I have to process it.” She knows he feels it too. Heavy on his shoulders just as it sits on her own. Responsibility for it ever happening.

27. Delighted [ after this is sad crap.]

Laughter surrounds them. It comes easier with him, not faked or mustered to make others feel better about it. She lets the down feather filled pillow thwack into his chest slightly, shaking her head at the terrible pun that’s left his lips. She smiles nonetheless. This is how she wants to spend her birthday, tomorrow, she realizes. Not with many people. Big parties and galas will be there next year and the year after. No, this year she just wants to stay in, avoid the crowd and do nothing. She’s allowed to be delighted in him compliance of her request. Nothing big. Nothing fancy. No pressure to put on faces or pretend she liked half the people invited all the while hearing their thoughts about her. Backrubs and fingers trailing through her hair. Easy and simple. Just this, quiet and secluded. With him.

28. Delirious

She knows it isn’t real. It feels real, though. Not that it helps of course. Knowing one’s gone mad and accepting that are completely different things. The voices hurt. They scream. They whisper. They coax her to listen, even when she doesn’t want to let them in.  She knows what it feels like to have someone rummage around in her head. She knows this person but can’t move past the paralytic nature of it all. This isn’t…real.  What’s real is…she doesn’t know. Can’t push past the fog to find out long enough. She remembers something happening. A hiccup in some mission. But the reality of it all alluded her.  The taste of diazepam, or some other sedative, fogs her mind and sleep beckons further on.

The long she sits there, hands clutching at her head, the longer she can feel it all sinking inside. Not her thoughts. Not her voice. Theirs. The faint sound of her name being called but can’t quite push past the fog. Can’t break the spell, maybe it’s the drugs, but she feels off. She wants to shift skins. Wants to change so she can sleep, can have her own thoughts. But she can’t. They bombarded her and she knows she’s thrashing about, can feel the weight of her muscles toss and turn. She can hear herself scream, cracking the cloud slightly. It burns, the hoarseness in her throat. But she’s submerged, floating from her body and not in it. Not experiencing the scene that appears in a smoke before her. These aren’t her thoughts, this isn’t real. But she’s trapped. The tightness in her head returns and she can feel the tears collect in her eyes. It’s like she fourteen again, the pain races down her spine. She wants the gone, but every attempt is sluggish.   He’s there, glasses in hand fingers pinching his brow. Tired. He must be, she thinks before blinking in an attempt to drive it all away. To focus.  To move past the delirium of it all. To separate reality from her mind, but it’s not working.

She blinks a few time, the fog receded. She wants to ask what happened. But the bed, the monitor, the feel of blood brushing her lip and it trickles down from her nose, the ache in her head is all she needs to know something bad happened.

29. Depressed

Depression wasn’t something Emma fell into often. It wasn’t something she liked to admit, but there were days. Days when she sat staring at the trinkets and objects students had given her—dead students—over the years. Silly things like mugs, cheap earrings from the mall and cards on her birthday. She kept them all these years because she’s sentimental when she wants to be. They were her students, after all. She was supposed to protect them. but you couldn’t protect them forever.

She can feel him as he approaches, worried about her locking herself in the office for hours now. They’d be buying another student tomorrow. Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to cry. It feels like a hopeless battle waging on.  She looks up at him in the doorway, blinking furiously even though there aren’t any tears. The receiver of a phone in her hand, a neckless in other. “I hate this…” She says barely audible. She can feel the emotions sinking deeper, a darkness settling beneath alabaster skin as he moves toward her. She doesn’t want to call another parent to tell them. She’d had enough of that now. She doesn’t look at him as he leans against her desk. She’s sure if does, her composure will crumble.

30.Despairing [ welp this is this all very death of x. Y u do this? ]

When the casket lowers, she’s nowhere to be seen. She doesn’t belong down there, mourning the loss. She’d done that since it happened. She’ll give herself the time to grieve, to accept it for what it is. But it’s not the end. And she’ll make damn sure of that. She watches, gaze running over the faces below, black umbrellas hiding many of his students from the rain. She doesn’t know if it’s natural or if it’s Ororo’s doing. She doesn’t care.  Lost in her head, she remembers the exact moment her hope was snuffed out and despair set in. She can see it play out in her reflection of the window.

Head in her lap, she’s crying freely now, a hand brushing the hair from his brow. She’s soft only for him, and it shows. She can hear the plea, her begging him to hold on. But even then she knows it’s too late. She’s not leaving him, that much is clear as she tries to ease his mind. To make sure he goes out peacefully. Rewriting moments that would only cause him greif even in death.

It’s the moment she feels it go blank that the world seemed to pause. Scott Summers dead. The words echoed around her, and she refuses to believe it happened so fast. She can hear the shouts of others around her. Calling for her, for them. The dust has settled, and she’s there, legs bent under her.  No, she thinks as the shadowy figures move toward her. No, Scott Summers was more than just a man. It didn’t get to end like this, she thinks bitterly, letting her ash laced hair drape over their faces. Desperately, she clings to that fact as they rush to her aid and freeze laying eyes on the scene. “Are they-”  The comment stops because she hasn’t lifted her head from where it’s pressed into his neck, and it’s clear. Head rising Emma looks to the others. “Ideas never die…” She mumbles as if he could hear her one last time, knowing he’d smirk at the loftiness. And that’s what he’d be. The idea—no he’d be hope for mutants everywhere when they needed it most. Scott Summers, the man who died, trying to do the right thing for his people. Scott Summers, who gave his life protecting the underdogs. That’s the Scott Summers everyone will remember, the face behind the idea or mutant movements world wide.