The Professor

nieniekoto:

groovyphilia:

I made this because I thought it might help

guys I think we just found the solution to world peace

Disclaimer:

Firm surface not required.

Answers.

fieldofvision:

A split second’s worth of confusion hits him, along with frustration and a dash of curiosity. Xavier’s voice is in his head, again, and no, he wasn’t imagining it before. But this time around he hasn’t time even to ask a single question, not even Why?

Because the second he registers Xavier’s voice, colors explode in his mind’s eye, sensors dulled from lack of new images bursting to life, and Scott’s breath catches in his lungs. He grips the comforter tighter and tries desperately to figure out what’s going on, to clear his head, but he can’t, try as he might, and the colors solidify into shapes and— What—

Oh.

His breath sticks in his throat and he has to take just a second to remember to draw it in, a second and then he’s thrust back into the sensory overload pounding into his mind’s field of vision. A room with wallpapered walls and wood trim—it’s been so long since he’s seen wallpaper—and standing there, standing there is—

Scott feels it in his gut before the name surfaces in his thoughts, the familiarity coursing like electricity through his nerves, the sight—the sight—of messy blond hair and a few standout freckles, awkward posture and a face just like how Scott remembers his own, skin that looks the way Scott’s skin feels and a smile that surrounds Scott, warm and welcoming and every bit as nervous as Scott himself feels. Brother. He’d thought he felt near to Alex just being in the same room. This is everything.

He barely hears Xavier’s words, so caught up is he in the delight of looking at Alex, but the one phrase that sinks in is your mutation. And suddenly, it all begins to click.

And then, like a photo being burnt up, the edges crinkle into black, then the image fades, leaving Scott blind once more.

“We’ll leave you two to catch up, then.” Charles says quietly, sweeping a gentle feeling of reassurance and a brief apology over Scott, knowing that taking away something he had only just given might sting. Reaching up to giving a brief pat on Alex’s shoulder, the Professor makes his way out of the room, ushering Maeve along with him.

For once, it seemed the story might indeed have a happy ending of sorts. A relief, as it had been been quite a long time since any of them had seen one.

It’s time.

telepathicphoenix:

Jean likes the Professor’s laughter. It’s like hearing a young boy and an old man at the same time. Someone who experienced everything all at once and somehow found a way to be everything needed. She needed a mentor like him more than anything. Having spent her first months out of her coma being treated as something to be hidden, a leper, having someone treat her as a child, what she was, could only be described as perfect. 

“I can’t even imagine you out of control, professor. You are like a pillar. Everyone here looks up to you. Not that I read their minds or anything, it’s just a…feeling,” Jean said, hoping he didn’t know about her accidental slip outside Mr McCoy’s lab. It was an accident after all. She truly couldn’t control her powers sometimes. 

When the Professor was beside her, asking permission to enter her mind, Jean hesitated. She didn’t know what he would find in there. Would he find nothing more than a tortured, twisted mind, filled with Annie who-was-a-broken-bird and parents -with-false-smiles? Was she any more than that? If she ever wanted to control her powers, she would have to be. She knew that. But fear makes cowards of everyone, and all Jean had come to know was fear. 

It was a trembling nod, but it was a yes all the same. Jean closed her eyes and waited for the Professor to recoil in horror.

Charles’s mouth tightens a fraction at being called a pillar, but that is the extent of his reaction. Instead, his lips quickly twist back into a pleasant expression. He can’t afford to pause and marvel about how much of a broken thing he was for people to lean against.

“Just relax.” He murmurs, pushing himself back into the moment, then lets himself drift.

A hated party dress. Grass torn between guilty hands. That hospital smell. That hospital white. Childhood wishes and dreams and secrets.

He coasts through the elaborate mazes, the rapidly changing images and thoughts, emotions, screams and whispers that only a mind like Jean Gray’s could hold. He heads to what he knows best. He takes it, this ability, what made them so alike, what sets them together even as they stand apart. He pulls it close, carefully, coaxing it in. Then he shuts it away with an imagined snick of a lock. Charles Xavier carefully shuts down Jean Gray’s telepathy. Pressing it back, putting it away. Saving it for later.

He left her with her telekinetic abilities. And he left her with the safety that for now, her own mind could not tear her apart. Safe. She was safe.

nieniekoto:

katze-anya:

nieniekoto:

katze-anya:

#oh shit anya reblogged me #forgot that cat followed me omg

Purrrrrr. -curls up in lap-

O-Oh, hello. *strokes fur*

-flicks tail- Mrr.

#(You will be allowed to live) #(For today)

oh shit

#THIS CAT IS SCARY AS SHIT #CHARLES HALp 

Have no fear, my darling Nie, the cat is harmless.

For the most part.

april is the cruelest month

214782:

“For such an educated man, you’re an idiot, Charlie.”

He sees without seeing. He sees a daughter and a wife that make him ache in the midst of a lazy morning that is gold. It is warmth, it is home, it is a lifetime of this, because how could anything like this possibly end?

Memories that are not his. Loose, unfitting with the rest of his head. Charles pushes at the thoughts until they crumble into the dust that he’s buried in, body stiffening from the unfamiliar alarm clock. Acute feelings creep along the cobwebs of receding sleep. Ache in his backside, red stinging along his neck and collar bones, and an hesitant urge to feel satisfied when really, he should know better.

Things rarely emerge into happiness between them, ever since the sands and blue waves had run them into the ground. They lie naked in bed, more intimate than they had been in months, and all he can do is reach out to keep the small tendrils of familiarity close. Before they become strangers once more. Just a little bit. Give me time to see him like this, just like this, before the hate returns.

“I suppose you were bound to realize it sooner or later.” He murmurs into the pillow. Lazily, his hand slips around Erik’s waist, skimming the skin there, skipping over scars to reach a familiar grip, those large fingers. ”While we’re at it, I’ll admit I am a worthless chess player as well.”

Charles the idiot opens his eyes and smiles at his own destruction, pressing his lips　to Erik’s wrist. It’s good morning. It’s I love you. It’s a dove, an olive branch, a broken symbol, but it’s for Erik, all the same.