We have it in us to be the better man.

Things for the MUN: ALWAYS ACCEPTING

All she could see were her people being destroyed all around her.  Death destruction and helplessness.  It was the lonely feeling that she knew would come once they were all gone and she tried to save them but all her efforts left her in the dark, ALONE. 

She heard a familiar voice and she turned towards it.  “I can’t.  I’m so alone. If I stay here I can save them then I won’t be alone anymore.  You can stay with me though. I like it when you’re here with me.  The dark isn’t so lonely with you.”  There was a small spotlight now on Charles and she smiled. 

“You can help me save all of them.  Will you help me.  I don’t want to be the last and to be alone. Please.”

There were many reasons to why Charles Xavier hated digging into the mind of those around him, what more friends. For one, he always felt like he was invading their privacy. Peering into a locked door through the keyhole and looking at something that he knew he shouldn’t be seeing. The second reason was because, at times, if a person’s memory was strong enough-- if the emotion was strong enough-- it would grab hold of Charles itself. At times, it would be hard for the telepath to break lose from a person’s mind when the echoes of emotion and memory took hold. It would feel like Charles was desperately trying to keep his head above water, only to have the violent waves grab back onto him and pull him down, drowning his lungs. Drowning his mind. That’s precisely what it felt like at the moment. The screams. The pain. The anguish. The loneliness. He could feel it all.

Send “You’re in my head!” for my muse’s response: ACCEPTING

II @akasupergirl​ 

“Oh, it’s Latin,” and his voice raises an octave with mockery, “Alrigh’ Grampa Grammarly.” Takes the RISK of pulling his hands out of his pockets just to cross them defensively over his chest. 

    A risk in POOR taste. 

“They’re gonna’ have a fuckin’ hard time of it without a Ouija board,” the kid SNAPS. The guy’s a TYPICAL grown up. And it’s meant to sound tough but he’s never learnt how to say Ouija so it comes out more like ‘ooh-ij-wee’ and those sparks BURST. Palms ablaze, spreading quickly up his arms, “Oh shit! Shit!” Lex’s sleeve catches and the kid performs a clumsy dance, waving burning hands through the air in a desperate attempt to get the flames to CEASE. Only really succeeds in sending red hot embers flying, face FLUSH with shame and a childish indignance. 

Charles felt his jaw tighten.-- Did that mean this kid’s parents were dead then?-- Okay. Perhaps, what he had said was in poor taste. He didn’t mean anything by it, the ex-telepath was simply running on annoyance, at this point. “I’ll just call the cops then,” he mumbled under his breath.

The young blonde was ready for an argument, moving at the first change her state was questioned. But, what she wasn’t ready for was-

“C-Charles, your l-legs.” Panic nearly suffocated her, of course, a sensation she knew often in her line of sight, practically tripping from the movement. Her friend, one with whom she witnessed the horrid accident that — unable to finish the thought.

Medication, the word drew her gaze to meet his regardless of the pain that met her there—the image absolutely unrecognizable. The very question wandered here mind when Hank answered the door to absolutely nothing, no longer blue, cursing some kids who still thought ding dong ditch was a worthy joke, remembering the very attempt futile since his turning.

Hank McCoy was good, but he wasn’t that good, right? Which explained the unforgettable scene she had entered walking in. The Charles she knew was an expert at keeping the voices at bay. Enough where he even managed to fend off hers once upon a time. Oh, how they only felt like children then.

She ignored the weak, not even standing (bad joke) offer of alcohol, hand gripping at her side. Anger, a looming companion, resurfaced its face once again. An eyebrow quivered, using half a mind to keep the facade of the girl he once remembered, though now having shorter hair and the wounds and bruises to litter an army. The past few years maybe have neglected her close friend, but it didn’t warrant any semblance of kindness either. Plus, she had to be ready just in case Hank entered, realizing after what she’d seen today that hopefully her visit would’ve been brushed away as fleeting thoughts.

Had he thought of her? After all these years? Searched for her, even?

“If you could read my mind, you’d know that Erik didn’t send me. Unfortunately, I don’t think they grant pen pals where he is.” She stated coldly, having been a few years itself since she had seen Erik ever since the events of DC. They had gone to save him—the President—a far different series of events littered the team leaderless and fending for themselves. How sad that he would think that Erik would send her to submit a message, or the fact that he believed that she would listen.

“And I don’t know where Raven ran off to.” Her own agenda taking front and center after Erik’s arrest and the death of their — what grace was she even given to call them anymore. A family? Angel - Azazel - Emma - Riptide

Eloise remains quiet as he rendered her quest useless, offering to pay cab fair. This truly wasn’t the same man she once —

“Frankly, Charles, you were all I had left.” The tears threatened her composure, immediately chasing away the emotion with a stark clear of her throat. “I came to apologize.” She whispered, the attempt of composure fleeting fast. She wanted to make up for what she had done—for abandoning him. “And from what I see, I might even say that you need me.” A bold statement to say the least. “I once remember a rather smart, naive telepath who would do anything to fight for my chance at…a clearer mind.” The soft smile on her face falters along with the visage she held, though ignoring the flicker between visages.

“Maybe it was time that I repaid that same gift. Maybe I — maybe I can help you.” She was a far different girl than the one that left that beach that day all those years ago and even more so to the one that he had met at the diner. There was a chance that she could alleviate some of the pain—find her old friend once again.

“Mm. I forgot how perceptive you are, Eloise. Yes, my legs. I’m walking. Well done. Top marks,” he remarked, his voice dry and practically emotionless, as he fixed himself a straight glass of whisky. Frankly, the ex-telepath almost appreciated the tone of surprise in El’s voice at the sight of his legs working again, because that sense of awe and amazement burned out years ago.