lifeincarncte-blog

[lifeincarncte-blog]

exposed-likeanerve:

The words ‘test subjects’ set Bruce’s nerves immediately on edge all over again, and the only thing that made him suppress any outward sign of his discomfort was the fact that for Jean, the words didn’t seem to have the same negative meaning that they did for him. “I can’t say I had any free periods to begin with, let alone aliens to fight during them,” he murmured, the closest thing to a normal response he could manage. High school hadn’t exactly been a high point in his life. He couldn’t imagine what it would have been like trying to negotiate that cesspool and master some sort of mutant power, and fight to protect humanity as a whole on top of all of that. He had to assume that took a kind of strength he just didn’t have.

Somehow, he would have assumed that it would be the other way around. Working with bodies had a lot fewer possible ethical issues than working with brains. But he wasn’t the telepath here, he wasn’t about to pretend that he knew more about the subject than she did. “It certainly adds a couple of wrinkles to the informed consent issue,” he agreed instead. Because regardless of the field, he couldn’t imagine it being anything but complicated. At least he only had to worry about complicating things when he started turning green. It would be all the time for her - she couldn’t just turn off being a mutant. Not that he could turn off having the Hulk inside of him either, but it was possible to live without changing, at least for a while. He smiled, a little sadly, having noted the word try in that sentence. He left it be, though. He wasn’t out to convert anyone to the illustrious order of pessimists. Besides, her question was more interesting. “If I say both, do I lose points for being noncommittal?” He shrugged. “But it depends on how long the answers take. The farther away they seem to be, the more likely it is to get frustrating, if that makes sense.” If an answer felt tantalizingly close, however far away it might actually be, it was too engaging for frustration. “I can understand the feeling,” he agreed softly. “Doesn’t seem like it would solve anything, but still.”

Due to her friendship with Hank, Jean had experience with people that were terrified of losing control, even outside of her own situation. That being said, there were few that lived with what Dr. Banner went through every single day. Hank frequently panicked about losing control, but his research had enabled him to maintain a somewhat normal existence, appearance aside. The mutants in the school who were scared of what they could do were trained, supported and loved, protected by the Professor. Banner had received no such protection. He had been hunted down, he had been treated as if he was nothing but a monster. Many other people in his position would have left, but he returned to the Avengers, and he did that for a reason. Jean respected him intensely for that. She just wasn’t quite sure how to put it into words.

“In an ideal world, I wouldn’t have to disclose my abilities if they were irrelevant to the patient that I was treating, the same as any other doctor,” Jean said. “Of course, I understand why people are hesitant.” For every good telepath that was out there, there was one that wanted to rule the world, change everyone’s opinions to their own. Holding one mind was enough until it wasn’t, and then came world domination. “I think you get extra points for honesty,” Jean said with a slight laugh. “Few answers are as simple as black and white. I’m sure my friends get frustrated when I can never come up with a definitive response, but when you see the things that we do in our line of work, it changes you.” There was a reason why Jean had few close friends outside of the mansion, after all. “We have solved situations like this before, right? Maybe not exactly like it, but aliens, Skrulls, the Syndicate, they were all beaten in the end. You’re trying to help, and that’s what we need. People who try. I think you’re doing a lot more than you give yourself credit for, Dr. Banner.”

[lifeincarncte-blog]

sugardonttouchme:

Anna Marie wasn’t used to being a person others needed. Her Aunt Carrie had loved her, but she knew she’d been a burden. More trouble than she was probably worth. On the streets, it’d been everyone for themselves. You didn’t rely on other people, and other people didn’t rely on you. Even among the Brotherhood, when Magneto would give grandiose speeches about how they were gods, how they were important, how the future depended on them – she’d never felt included in it. She hadn’t fought for him because of some grand cause, or because she’d thought she could help – she’d fought because she was angry. 

She was still angry, in a lot of ways. Rogue was a nickname she’d more than earned. But everything was different at the mansion. At the mansion, she felt included. She believed in a grand cause. And she knew sometimes… sometimes people needed her, just as much as she needed them. Maybe it was a funny thing to find comfort in, but Anna Marie ain’t never been ‘normal.’ 

The Professor needed her to help this girl. Jean needed her to complete the mission. And most important – Chantel needed her, if she wanted to have any kind of real life. The pressure was intense, made her heart skip a beat, but Anna Marie felt herself slipping into the old resolve and determination of the street. The grit that had made her Rogue. Rogue would find Chantel, she wouldn’t stop until she did.

Maybe her newfound determination came from the surge of power she felt from Jean. It was amazing, left her feeling so high she was dazed. But focused still, the power making her sharp. Faint echoes drifted through her mind, far-off voices, but her entire being was focused on the men coming towards them. One was already slumped against the far wall. Jean took out another two. And Rogue followed her lead, taking a breath and holding her hands close to her chest. She thrust them forward, sending a blast of psychic energy towards one of the last men. He flew back, and landed completely limp. 

Jean took out the last man with a flourish, just one single finger, and Rogue just stood there staring at her. Breathing heavy, a strange smile on her lips. “Well I declare, sugar,” she said, just admiring the trick for a moment. Then she remembered why they were here, what the real goal was. She led the way until they found a back door. “Lord willing and the creek don’t rise,” she said, smiling at Jean. “That means ‘definitely,’ sugar. Let’s go find her, reckon it’s time she came home.” She held her hands out just like Jean, and lifted into the air, and that alone was enough to make her certain they’d be successful. All the powers she’d borrowed over the years – nothing had made her feel quite this untouchable. For once, it was a powerful feeling. 

The world was in turmoil. The city had been pulled from the earth, people were terrified of what might happen, and the president was currently betraying people’s trust left, right and centre, seeming more and more determined to exert his will regardless of the consequences. Jean wished that she could say she hadn’t seen this happen before, but one of the benefits of history repeating itself - essentially the only benefit, at least in regards to making the same mistakes - was that she knew this would one day pass. The situation would be resolved, the X-Men would persevere, and heroes would prevail once again. That was something that Jean had never doubted, her optimism remained unwavering.

In the meantime, the X-Men would continue to fight to protect everyone, not only their own kind. Anyone that was being targeted, that was being hurt, would be defended by their group to the best of their ability, and that was something Jean was insanely proud of. Dying and being brought back to life was something Jean wasn’t particularly eager to experience, but it was something she was genuinely grateful for if it meant that she could experience life alongside the people that she loved the most.

Anger had always come naturally to Jean. She wasn’t a fighter, she was empathetic, she was a healer, but when the time called for it - and it often did - she was going to be the last one standing. With her power divided, she had wondered whether there was a chance they would take a little longer to win, but the battle was ended quickly. That was only a benefit. Chantel was getting further and further away, and they needed to hurry.

Jean lifted off, streaking through the air above the city until they reached the library. As they hovered above, Jean looked over at Rogue. “We need to perform a psychic sweep,” she told her friend. “Take my hand, and we can do it together.” After all, the worst that could happen was Rogue would take some more of Jean’s power, and thus far, it had proven that wasn’t going to kill her. Hopefully this time, she would receive some of the knowledge of Jean’s training that she was pushing towards her, and that way, they could find the girl a lot more quickly. “There,” Jean whispered, focusing intently on one small voice. “She’s in the natural history section. She’s panicking, so we need to approach quietly. Preferably through the front door instead of floating down, too.” Sometimes that weirded people out. Not everyone went to a school like Xavier’s.

[lifeincarncte-blog]

cloudwclker:

In no way was Ororo pleased that her plan to help protect mutants by revealing her own abilities (within reason) had been successful. She had no desire to see any person, superhero or not, persecuted by the public. It was an atrocity that she had grown accustomed to throughout the years, as every obvious mutant did, and while it was a relief that Doom and the Daily Bugle weren’t damning mutants as excessively, Ororo took little comfort in it. Of course she was relieved that the children at Xavier’s were safe, but the cost was a steep one, and as a woman who prided herself on aiding people, she was brainstorming every possible way to calm the public without incurring their wrath. Jean, she suspected, would be feeling similarly. They were both naturally empathetic, moved by protecting people. If there was way, Ororo and Jean would surely discover it.

Jean’s posture made it obvious that she was equally as worried about the news and Ororo sighed quietly. She had adjusted to her friends’ constant worry, as X-Men, it was inevitable, but she hated seeing them so stressed. “I’m happy to hear that,” she replied honestly. It had never been a doubt in her mind, but after losing Jean, albeit temporarily, she always made a point of valuing alone time with her friend. “You’re right about that,” she admitted, though Ororo didn’t sound pleased to say so. “The government has never been trustworthy and expecting anything decent from them was a mistake.” Truthfully, Ororo had been assuming something horrible would happen: it was part of the reason she approached Scott with her plan. “I suppose that was noble of him,” she agreed. “I’m not sure we can calm it, but we can speak our peace. Some of the public may be willing to listen,” she suggested. “The X-Men do have some supporters. What do you think, Jean?”

Ororo had always been someone that Jean deeply respected, which was probably why their friendship had developed so rapidly after the other woman arrived at Xavier’s. Even though her predictions had been correct and Doom’s list had turned against those who had not signed on the dotted line, Ororo did not boast about her wisdom, nor suggest that she deserved gratitude, which she definitely did. She was humble in all things even as she was regarded a goddess, she was aware of her own strengths as much as she was her weaknesses, and Jean was proud to follow her lead. It had never lead her wrong before, and the same could be said this time around. The X-Men were already relatively public figures, and that meant that being revealed to have listed did not affect them or draw attention. Unlisted people were instead being targeted, and with their protection, the students were safe.

This was where the X-Men differed from the Brotherhood, however. They were not only concerned with saving and protecting their own - they wanted to do the same for everyone, it they could. “You could argue that it came from a place of desperation,” Jean murmured. “No other president has ever faced a situation like this one. People are looking to him for guidance, and he needs an army to stand behind him. Forcing people to list, though, only undermines the sacrifice that people who have already signed has made.” It made Doom look like a tyrant, which never went down particularly well. “We would need to decide on what our piece would be, first,” Jean replied. “Obviously we do not agree with what he did, but do we speak openly to that end? I want to stand up for the people as much as you do, but we need to find a way to do that which doesn’t put our students in the spotlight.” She paused, chewing on her lip. “Xavier never mentioned this amount of democracy when he first brought up the idea of the X-Men,” Jean joked lightly, with a small smile. “We should really sue for false advertising.”

[lifeincarncte-blog]

formutantkind:

Oh, to have her gifts. Even for a moment. If he could peer into her mind and see what thoughts were swirling there, it would be beautiful. Her ‘mindscape’ as Charles and the others called them, must have been filled with power and potential, and he hoped one day to walk across the halls of her mind. If he had Charles’ gifts, perhaps he could’ve even persuaded her to return to his side. 

But even as the thought occurred to him, he knew he would never follow through. The choices each Mutant made defined them, and to take that away from one who mattered so much to him – it was nearly unthinkable. It would’ve made things simpler, to be sure, but it would dull the true glory of counting her among his ranks. Even if she didn’t fight for him, her company alone would lift the spirits of the entire Brotherhood. Jean had a way of doing that, a light about her. Erik hoped one day she would release that light, purify the world in flames and fury, but if she could only provide a warmth and light for now, that was far from insignificant. “The truth can be complicated,” he mused. “But it is finite. It’s only our perspectives that differ, but the facts remain the same. The wrongs of the world do not change, only our view of them.” He paused a moment, felt the fury she spoke of simmering in his veins, never far from the surface of his skin. It fueled his passion, his drive, his determination. He could no longer imagine a life without anger – it felt too much like complacency. “Charles believes he can shelter everyone if he simply loves hard enough,” he said softly, keeping every trace of ire from his voice. “I am angry, yes. And anger has led me to action, but that anger is fueled by the same love Charles feels,” he said, his eyes locked on hers. “The same truth, different expressions. They are not afraid of us,” he said, arching a brow. “They are afraid of their own inadequacy. And I love my people enough to acknowledge that the humans are correct to have such a fear – we are gods living among insects, and yet we are made to feel as nothing. I love my people too much to allow it to continue.” 

She was young yet, no matter how much she had grown. She still believed in Charles’ utopian vision, the peace that could be achieved between Sapeins and Superiors. But Erik knew the truth – that ‘peace’ would be nothing more than a farce, a half-baked compromise that would never turn in favor of the Mutants, not while humans still existed. Perhaps one day, she would understand that. 

He could see how begrudging she was to admit that, the same way she had been when she was his student. It pulled a chuckle to his lips, but he swallowed it back down. “I believe they are a real enough threat to induce caution,” he said slowly, glancing around the wasteland. The desert that stretched on for miles, the smell of smoke thick in the air, the screeches of strange and fantastical creatures. “But there are many other forces at work here. After all, it was not the demons who brought us here, simply to trespass on their home. But tell me, what do you make of it?” he asked, as if he were still her teacher. It was so easy to slip into old habits. 

But just as easy to remember all that was separating them. Sentiment was one of her greatest weakness, but it was not one he was unfamiliar with. Each loss of a follower hurt him deeply. Too often Mutant lives were cut tragically short. “Too many,” he agreed, perhaps to her surprise. “But they died with honor and pride in what they are. May we all be so lucky.” For death was unavoidable – unless, it seemed, you were Jean Grey.

Possibly her greatest weakness had been a fear of death. That unavoidable tyrant that marched with time and took no quarter, showed no mercy. But Erik had accepted his death as a boy, when he was marched into those gates for the first time and he could smell the burning flesh still in the air. The scent lingered for weeks, never truly went away. Jean knew so much of fire, but did she know what that smell was like? Of course, her flames had spread far and wide while the Phoenix raged inside her, consuming friend and foe alike, so perhaps she was not as ignorant of the stench as he hoped for her. “Safest for them, yes,” Erik said, still admiring the shield. “But it has put yourself at risk. If you were to exert yourself beyond exhaustion, you would be stuck here, my dear. Perhaps it is best I stumbled upon you – or at least, not the worst,” he said, chuckling lowly. 

He stepped back, the metal shard hovering just above his head. “We will begin slowly,” he said, waving a hand forward. The metal crept towards Jean’s shield, and he could feel the resistance as soon as it hit the light. “Good,” he said, amplifying the pressure, but the shield held. He called the metal back to position. “Now, faster. More momentum means it will hit your shield with more force – you can conserve your energy if you wait until the last possible moment to increase the power of your field. Do it too quickly, and your enemy may have time to adjust their attack.” He felt more like a teacher than he had in months, despite what he said to her. “Don’t forget to breathe,” he warned, and then he launched the metal towards the center of her forcefield. 

Telepaths, so Xavier had said and continued to repeat, had more of a weight on them than other mutants did. What mattered most to every single person, whether they were human or mutant, whether they placed weight on it in their daily lives or not, was their freedom. Even if it wasn’t in their everyday lives, even if their physical bodies had to follow orders, their minds were free to think what they wanted. People couldn’t police thoughts. In their own heads, every single person could do what they wanted, could live the lives they wanted.

Telepaths threatened that. There had been more than one person who had risen up, a critic of the Institute, and questioned whether Xavier was recruiting students to his cause, or brainwashing soldiers for his army. Xavier had never refuted those claims, had never given them the light of day or the respect to fight back against them, and Jean knew her Professor well enough to realise that he would never do such a thing. Every single telepath had forced their will on another person unwillingly, and because of that, every single telepath knew the power they were fighting against. Some, like Emma, embraced that, remained confident in the fact that they were holding all the cards. Others, like Jean, were terrified of it. When she was a child, she had questioned whether she was projecting her feelings towards Scott onto him, whether their relationship was as true and honest as it appeared on the surface. Time proved that not to be the case, but the self doubt, the panic, remained.

“That sounds a lot like justification of the wrongs that you have committed,” Jean said. She paused for a moment, and then added, “That we have all committed.” To say that the truth was finite but perspectives were so easily changed … it didn’t sit right with her, for a reason that she couldn't quite understand. Perhaps it was because the Phoenix had always made things such as that so easy to understand, so uncomplicated. The truth was the truth was the truth, and that was all that they had to judge on. Perspective mattered for nothing. “There’s something to be said for love,” Jean said. “It’s what makes life worth living. A fight counts for something, but when you win, you need to have something to return to. Something behind you that encourages you to keep going, and that it’s worth it at the end.”

That, as far as Jean was concerned, what Erik lacked. His morality had been shifted so many times, his mission consuming him entirely. It was almost tragic to look at him now, to see how thoroughly he had embraced the anger inside of him, how he had ignored the good that she could still see deep in his mind when she searched hard enough.

“I don’t see humans as insects,” Jean said, anger welling up in her chest, despite her best intentions. “They have treated our kind poorly for centuries. If we do the same thing, we are no different than the species you hate. They might be afraid of our power, yes, but anybody with a brain would be. People lash out because of fear and anger, and we shouldn’t punish those that haven’t just because there are many who have. Innocent still means something.”

No one was completely innocent, she knew that, and she knew that Erik would not take her words to mean so. Jean had seen through everyone, saw the darkest thoughts in their minds, and still she adored them. She still fought every single day to protect them, even if they thought about horrific things, because people deserved to be saved. They deserved to have a second chance. The fact that Erik could not see that was something she wished to change, but doubted she ever could.

“I think someone has a much larger plan than anyone has considered yet,” Jean said. “Someone put us here, for a reason we don’t know. Someone is protecting us, too. They don’t want us to be here to destroy us. If they did, they would’ve done it by now. They are keeping us here for power, to bask in what they have achieved.” Either that, or they were truly monsters, watching people squirm in their seats, cry to their parents at night because they were terrified. Jean liked to believe that there were people preoccupied with power rather than consider the ultimate evil that could exist.

Jean swallowed thickly. Death still held a sting that she couldn’t quite put her finger on, perhaps because she couldn’t remember what came after the moment when the world went to white around her. She could never say for certain what came next, whether she was safe or not. All she knew was the Phoenix, the White Hot Room, and those in themselves were like hell. She still feared death, even now, even when she bested it.

Luckily, the conversation moved on quickly to more physical tasks, which Jean had always found great comfort in. They acted as distractions, but distractions with a purpose. “I would retreat before I got in over my head,” Jean argued, but in this case Erik was showing how well he knew her. She had a tendency to be stubborn, to fight back for far longer than she should.

She took a breath, nodding when Erik spoke. The metal did not break through, but she could feel something of a prodding on the edges of her mind, the peripheries of her power. The shard pulled back, and Jean focused entirely on it, maintaining the fire in her chest, remembering the anger and the protective instinct that ran deep within her. Jean took one deep breath, and the shard came hurtling towards her. She waited, waited, waited, and then as the shard was only a metre away, she formed a shield, strengthening it a second before it hit the centre. She felt something like a shockwave, but other than that, the shield remained strong, never flickering. “That was …” She paused, trying to think of a word. “A lot easier than burning everything,” she settled on. “It felt like me.”

[lifeincarncte-blog]

lifeincarncte:

“We were two of Xavier’s six original students,” Jean said, with a quickly developing grin. “Something like test subjects, maybe, but it worked out in our favour. How many kids can say they battle alien armies during their free period before lunch?” High school had not been as terrible for Jean as it was for the grand majority of the population, but that didn’t mean that she had necessarily enjoyed it. She had been one of the few mutants in the school, after all, and abundantly aware of that fact thanks to her telepathy. Being amongst other mutants, people just like her, that had meant something. It had made things easier far more than it made them complicated.

Each and every time Jean told the story, it still amazed her how everything had fallen into place. Scott had been Xavier’s first student, Jean had been his second, and the other boys had fallen in line quickly after that. They had been a family, first and foremost, and continued to be even when the entire universe seemed to threaten that stability. “My disclaimer speeches before treating people are long enough as it is for therapy,” Jean said. “I shudder to imagine describing my abilities to someone before I helped with their broken leg.” She understood why people distrusted telepaths, understood it completely, but it did make for a lot of headaches. At least her current patients knew her well enough to trust that she wouldn’t interfere in their thoughts without permission. “I try to be,” Jean admitted, the unsaid being that sometimes she fell short. “Potential dangers aside, do you find having all the questions and none of the answers frustrating or interesting? I say I would be the latter, but lately, I’m definitely edging towards throwing wardrobes around without any villains to hit,” she joked.

The words ‘test subjects’ set Bruce’s nerves immediately on edge all over again, and the only thing that made him suppress any outward sign of his discomfort was the fact that for Jean, the words didn’t seem to have the same negative meaning that they did for him. “I can’t say I had any free periods to begin with, let alone aliens to fight during them,” he murmured, the closest thing to a normal response he could manage. High school hadn’t exactly been a high point in his life. He couldn’t imagine what it would have been like trying to negotiate that cesspool and master some sort of mutant power, and fight to protect humanity as a whole on top of all of that. He had to assume that took a kind of strength he just didn’t have.

Somehow, he would have assumed that it would be the other way around. Working with bodies had a lot fewer possible ethical issues than working with brains. But he wasn’t the telepath here, he wasn’t about to pretend that he knew more about the subject than she did. “It certainly adds a couple of wrinkles to the informed consent issue,” he agreed instead. Because regardless of the field, he couldn’t imagine it being anything but complicated. At least he only had to worry about complicating things when he started turning green. It would be all the time for her - she couldn’t just turn off being a mutant. Not that he could turn off having the Hulk inside of him either, but it was possible to live without changing, at least for a while. He smiled, a little sadly, having noted the word try in that sentence. He left it be, though. He wasn’t out to convert anyone to the illustrious order of pessimists. Besides, her question was more interesting. “If I say both, do I lose points for being noncommittal?” He shrugged. “But it depends on how long the answers take. The farther away they seem to be, the more likely it is to get frustrating, if that makes sense.” If an answer felt tantalizingly close, however far away it might actually be, it was too engaging for frustration. “I can understand the feeling,” he agreed softly. “Doesn’t seem like it would solve anything, but still.”

[lifeincarncte-blog]

akagoddammit:

Was this what her mind was like? She joked (darkly) about it being a mess, a black hole, a storm – she never ran out of metaphors. But she hadn’t expected it to be this empty. Barren, without another soul in sight. Just Malcolm, bleeding out, and blurry figures in the windows. Whispers down every alley, shadows that never seemed to really take any kind of shape.

Christ, how messed up was she? Jean’s mindscape had felt like another world, but a vibrant one. Life, people – even the fire. There was substance to Jean’s mind, but Jessica’s felt more like stepping into a place that was long-since condemned. The sort of place that should’ve been abandoned, torn down and replaced with a strip mall, but somehow kept standing. Even the buildings surrounding her looked washed out, the bricks dull, the sidewalk below her cracked and full of glass that crunched under her feet. 

She knew he would be here. I’ll always be here, Jessica – was that just in her head, or did Jean hear it too? She wasn’t even trying to figure it out anymore, wasn’t trying to understand how this was supposed to help. She thought she could prepare, that she’d be ready, that the worst had already happened, but now she was drowning in her own goddamn subconscious. As she thought it, she noticed the sound of water. Distant, but distinct. The sound of waves hitting a dock, and she was sure if she ran far enough, she’d find that, too. Would Kilgrave be there? Body twisted, neck backwards – or would she find him intact, stroking Trish while she stood by and just watched? 

Old wounds. That was all there was left here. Old wounds and scar tissue, and strange, flickering memories. The IGH building proved that much. “A memory,” she repeated, jaw clenched so tight she was surprised the words made it out intact and not in shreds. “A shitty goddamn memory.” She wasn’t sure, couldn’t actually remember, but she knew it was true.

The flickering scene inside was making her nauseous, but she didn’t want to leave just yet. She took another step inside, even as the floor changed beneath her feet. “Great,” she deadpanned. “That’s what I needed. More goddamn repression.” She bit her lip, and kept going, following the same path down the halls as she had during her investigation in the present day. But each step she took cemented the building in the past. At least it was brighter that way, but she wasn’t sure she’d like what she could see now. “It’s for a case,” she said, glancing back at Jean. “My case. There’s twenty days missing from my medical record, twenty days after the crash.” Outside, she could hear screeching tires, the smell of burning rubber flitted through the air. She swallowed it down, kept pressing forward. But Jean stopped her, stepped in front as they reached the corner. “I’ve been trying to figure out what happened. What IGH is, if they – made me like this,” she said, gesturing to herself. Whatever Jean said, she was wrong. Jessica was exactly what happened to her, what other people had made her. First IGH and then Kilgrave. But not anymore. “If I’m in control, then I want to know what’s around that corner,” she said, pointing, a dangerous edge to her voice. “I’m this close to finding something, a real lead, and I’m not going to stop just because –”

She didn’t get a chance to finish the sentence. A figure, more solid and alive than anything else so far, came flying around, moving past Jean like she wasn’t even there. It was headed for Jessica, hands outstretched. More like claws, mangled and burned like the rest of the Thing’s flesh. Jessica gasped, stepped backwards, and fell, entangled in – an IV line? It was connected to her, and she couldn’t take it out, and the Thing was still lunging for her, even as shadowy figures with white-gloved hands held it back. Jessica crawled back as best she could, clawing at the IV, heart pounding so hard in her chest she thought she might throw up. Despite everything she just said, the fear overtook her. “Get me out!” she screamed. “Grey, get me out of here!” 

Jean had her fair experience with repressed memories herself, though they weren’t often concerned with her personal life. Any of the traumas that she had faced there, the people that she had lost including herself, were firmly front and centre in her mind, remind her each and every day about how she couldn’t return to who she had been no matter what she tried. The memories that were deep in her subconscious, hiding in the shadows, were protective mechanisms more than anything, the mind’s way of protecting itself. The Phoenix had shown Jean the universe, had presented her with situations that no human mind could truly comprehend, and so many of the things that she had seen were lost on her.

Gradually, Jean had been exploring her mindscape, beginning with her own issues, gaining autonomy and authority over them. Now, she was moving on to unlocking more of her past, delving deeper and deeper into her psyche. She knew the time would come when she would need Emma’s assistance - as much as she was loathe to say it, she knew that the other woman was the more highly trained telepath, and extremely good at what she did so long as she used it for the right reasons - but for now, she was confident in herself and her abilities for the first time in a long time. It provided her the security that her physical powers could not, and that in itself was empowering.

Jessica was going through a similar situation, and Jean was eager to help her in any way that she could. “Memories like these are the ones that prevent sleep, cause nightmares, make people depressed when otherwise their lives seem to be going to plan,” Jean said. “They can be frustrating to approach, especially if you don’t even remember what it is you’re supposed to be recalling, but this is the benefit of a mindscape. It shows you things up front and centre, in ways you can’t ignore.”

Of course, when it was impossible to ignore something, that meant that the only choice you had was to face it. Jessica continued to say that she was more than capable of handling it, that she had it covered, but Jean was reluctant to believe it. The woman standing in front of her had more strength than she knew, but there was also pushing someone too far too fast, and Jean had never expected this memory to just be there, for them to stumble across it.

“At least you can take comfort in the fact that you didn’t actively suppress this memory,” Jean said. “Your mind couldn’t cope with what happened here, and so it blocked these days out to protect you. The case must’ve drawn it back up to the surface. Normally, it takes several more sessions and a lot more practice to get this far down into the subconscious.” Twenty days missing. Jean took a sharp inhale of breath, remembering how she had felt when she woke up and Scott told her that she had missed three years, that she had been dead - again. That she had lost him in all the ways that mattered when as far as she could remember, they had been golden. “We don’t need to figure it out today, Jessica. Whatever you feel comfortable with we will do, but don’t push yourself too-”

The figure cut both of their arguments off. Jean could almost feel it moving across the room, the wind that passed through it, the cold air that chilled her to the bone to see it, like witnessing a ghost moving through gravestones. Jean closed her eyes, spread her hands out and transported them back, panting, to the floor of her office. “Hey,” Jean said, purposefully keeping her own voice calm, even, “hey, I can help you calm down. Just take my hand, Jessica. We will calm you down, and we can work this out together, okay?”

[lifeincarncte-blog]

emmagrace--frost:

“You looking like a lost bird has nothing to do with where we are,” Emma says, waving her hand. She didn’t need to read Jean’s mind to know it had more to do with the latter topic of conversation. Who was Jean without the Phoenix? Emma was the queen (white queen) of assuming she knew what people were thinking or feeling — telepathy aside.

“No,” Emma scoffed. “Why would I waste my time with that? Do you think we would be able to find some way to escape? And to what? How do we know what lies beyond is not a wasteland? Here we have the protection of the school, of each other. The students need this place,” Though Emma did wish it could be back to its former glory, but it has certainly been worse as far as the school was concerned.

“Though I am certain we will all be forced to register soon,” Emma shrugs her shoulders a little bit. “But I think, as it stands, you and I have endured much worse than a man who likes to swing his proverbial dick around. No?” Emma closes her book and turns her gaze to the woman across from her.

“What’s eating you? Don’t say this weird pocket dimension, I’ll go searching,” Emma warns lightly, tapping her temple.

“It’s entirely to do with the fact that we’re in another dimension yet to be specified, Emma,” Jean retorted. It had been exactly three sentences into their conversation, and already she could feel something like irritation building up in her chest. She stopped, took a breath, and reminded herself that in her own way, Emma was trying to show that she cared. If she cared. It was complicated. “Pray tell, what do you think it’s to do with then?”

Jean raised an eyebrow, a smirk pulling at the side of her mouth. “Of course. How could I forget? You have so much else to do with your day besides helping get our city back to Earth again. Did you get your mani pedi yesterday?” The students had always been Emma’s priority, far more than heroism. There was something admirable in that, but it was frustrating nonetheless. “The students are safe here only for as long as whoever put us here isn’t bored,” Jean said. “We need to get to the bottom of this, otherwise they’ll be in insane danger.”

Being forced into anything was something that understandably made Jean’s skin crawl, given her previous experiences with losing control. “Me, Ororo and Scott all voluntarily listed with Doom. We did so with the hope that it would divert some of the heat from the students. They are too young to make a decision like that.”

At Emma’s next sentence, Jean couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head. “Maybe a few times,” she teased. “Oh please, don’t. You’ll see what I’m getting you for Christmas, and we can’t have you ruining the surprise.” She sighed then, looked over at her … friend? Colleague? Teammate? “It’s strange, is all,” she said finally, “living without the Phoenix. It was with me for a decade, and now it’s just … gone.”

[lifeincarncte-blog]

bloody-good-occultist:

“So his powers appeared when he was a teenager? Yikes. I definitely wouldn’t have wanted ta go through that.” Going through his teenage years had been rough enough. John could only imagine what it would have been like if he had suddenly started disappearing at random intervals uncontrollably. “I got a whole bloody load o’ magic at my disposal, luv. Magic shields, blasts o’ energy, conjurin’ things, communin’ wit’ spirits…I can even raise a dead person or two if'n you wanna talk ta someone. Can’t promise they’ll be all that lively, but I can pull it off fer a little while.” A lot of magic was dangerous, especially something like his last suggestion. Careful magic practitioners would not fool around with spells like that. But of course John was far from careful. Which was why he managed to pull off a lot of things others might deem impossible, yet it was also why he had caused so much harm to others. “Yeah, it’s not somethin’ ta take lightly. But I’ve been doin’ it long enough now that I think I might have gotten the hang o’ it.”

When John had gotten Lorna’s powers dumped on him, he had thought it was pretty lousy. But now knowing that there were mind readers out there too, he fancied getting stuck with those powers would have been worse. “I got some kinda metal-bendin’ powers. It was a righ’ mess. Mushed me best lighter inta rubbish because o’ it. I was gettin’ worried I’d be wreckin’ metal stuff indefinitely.” As he had said, John was not terribly bothered by the prospect of her reading his thoughts, but he was still glad she had told him. “That’s good, luv. Bein’ straightforward does help a lot.” He chuckled at her comment that his need for a smoke was rather loud. “See, told you! But as much as I want one, I think I’d better not. Who knows what’s waitin’ out in that ruddy wasteland? Wouldn’t wanna unintentionally start an interdimensional war by settin’ somethin’ on fire.” Seeing that she had created a shield, John nodded and muttered a spell, teleporting them both beyond the barrier and into the wasteland. “Wow, now that’s a sight you don’t see every bleedin’ day!” he remarked, gazing around at the multicolored sand, “Blimey, I haven’t seen shit like that since the last time I tried some experimental magical hallucinogens. Not that I was doin’ it fer fun. It was fer serious purposes, I promise!”

“Most mutant abilities manifest themselves obviously at puberty, or times of high stress. Often the two are linked, for understandable reasons.” Being a teenager was hard enough, in Jean’s opinion, without adding in a gene mutation on top of it, but she had found pride in discovering she was a mutant. She had always felt as if there was something different about her, and when her powers manifested earlier than typical, that had only been a confirmation of what she already knew. “You can raise the dead?” Jean repeated, eyes widening. “Are they the same person as they were before? How long do they remain?” Of course, just as Wanda had said, all magic had a price. The Phoenix was life incarnate, and because of that, it took lives as if they were nothing but mere insects. “What spells do you use the most frequently, then? Do they take as much of a toll if they’re spells you use often, or smaller ones?”

Jean had been around when the power swap occurred - and by ‘around,’ she really meant she had been alive, which was something that had to be considered when describing the timeline of her existence - but she hadn’t been affected by it in the same way as so many in the mansion had been. She supposed the universe decided that she had handled enough in her life and decided to give her a break in this regard, which she appreciated. “Ah, that explains why Lorna was asking around for spellbooks,” she said with a small smile. “I was just about to say that myself. The wasteland seems like to be a desert, which means a wildfire could be very easy to cause.” Besides, they had more than enough fire with Jean involved, even if the Phoenix wasn’t a part of it. “Oh, of course,” Jean said, her tone making it clear she didnt believe a word he was saying. She bent down, picking the sand up in her hands. “It’s tangible. I don’t really know what I was expecting to be different,” she admitted. She stepped up again. “Do you see anywhere to get resources? Is it too much to ask for them to signpost it?”

[lifeincarncte-blog]

formutantkind:

You can’t make fire feel afraid. He could not recall where he had heard the words – though he suspected it was from a spoken poem. While he enjoyed the classics, he found himself drawn to the new-age expressions of art. For even poetry could not fight evolution. Time marched ever onward, changing everything it touched, and it’s reach was limitless. 

He thought of those words now, and from the moment he heard them, he had thought of Jean. His favorite student, a spark of life and potential among dozens of the mediocre, even by Mutant standards. She was fire that should never feel afraid, but he knew it preyed on her. The power she had, so great it shook her to the core. One day, perhaps, he could show her that power wasn’t to be feared, but rather – to make others afraid. Fire did not fear the forest it engulfed, and Erik had plenty of experience with flames. He knew sooner or later, they would triumph. It was only once something burned that new growth could emerge from the ashes. 

Of course, Jean was never one to let things lie, even for the sake of civility. Erik smiled politely at her, though it was a bittersweet sentiment. “What we hope the world will be and what the world is, are often two very different things,” he said, an echo of the debates he’d once held so peacefully with Charles himself. “Charles believes that if you ignore the latter, the former will become true. I believe, and perhaps you know – given your profession,” he said with a nod, knowing of her psychological practice. “Is that only by acknowledging what needs to be changed, the reality of the wrongs, that the reality can be changed. If we accept the world as it is, then perhaps we can fight to make it what we hope it could be. Running from the things that make us angry or hateful, that does not make them disappear,” he said gently. He had so much fury, a fire of his own inside him, and it had forged him into this man that stood in front of her. He had never run from his anger, from  his hate, but rather, learned to use it. Jean was afraid of her own power, afraid of the anger inside her, but if she embraced it – she could do so much. 

He gazed out across the wasteland, and then gave her a pointed look, one eyebrow arched. “If you truly believed that, you would be practicing in the Danger Room,” he said simply. “But you know as well I, that some things must be learned in battle. In real danger.” She could claim she was out here to protect others, but truly, she was out here to hide. Maybe she believed she was  hiding to keep others from being frightened, but there was a tactical advantage to practicing in an inhospitable wasteland, far from prying eyes. And yet, it was in front of him, an ‘enemy,’ that she showed off those magnificent abilities. “Whatever they call themselves, recruits, students, or simply followers, they are under my guidance and protection,” he countered smoothly. “It is my job, as teacher or general, to lead them. I simply do not shy away from the realities of our situation, and I do not hide them away from the dangers they may face. I throw them into the battlefield, encourage them to learn in the heat of a true fight. It has made them quite formidable,” he added, shrugging one shoulder. “I’ve never forgotten that Charles is a man of many principles,” he said quietly. “I merely doubt whether he is a man of action as well.” 

The anger in her voice, that little tinge coloring the words, the spark on her tongue – she channeled it into her abilities now. He could see it, the power rippling through her shield, fueled by a deep desire to prove. Prove something to herself, or to him, or to the world. Perhaps all three. “Your family,” he repeated, calmly though he was sure the words were meant to aggravate him somehow. “And yet, I do not see any of them here,” he pointed out. He lifted a hand, and a far-off piece of scrap metal flew towards them. He inched it slowly towards her shield, and at that pace, it was easily rebuffed. “Shall we test it together, my dear?” he asked, pulling the metal back, poising it like a spear, floating right in front of her. “However you choose to use this power, you should know its limitations, its strengths and weaknesses. Knowledge is power, as they say.” 

There were many days - most days - that Jean was infinitely grateful for what she had been given, the opportunities that had been presented to her, the people that she surrounded herself with, the people that loved and cared for her regardless of what it was that she had done, or the Phoenix had done. There were other days, the ones that she didn’t speak of now (when she had brought them out into the open, it had been in the safety of Erik Lehnsherr’s classroom, where she had felt free to speak openly, to speak angrily, about the things that burned inside of her), days when she felt nothing but regret, nothing but rage at the situation that she had been placed into.

She had made a mistake a long time ago. She had been a sixteen year old child, moments from death, and she had called out for help.  She had received a monster instead of a saviour, and that monster continued to haunt her even when for all intents and purposes Jean knew she had banished it. Xavier had put her in that position, had made her a soldier, but she couldn't find it within herself to resent that. The one thing that Xavier and Lehnsherr’s feud had proven time and time again was that no matter what side mutants chose, peace or war, they would always find themselves fighting for the right to exist.

Jean was not a fighter. she had never been. She was angry, selfish at times, she burned too brightly even when there was no entity to stoke the flames. Yet above all of that, she was compassionate, she was empathetic. She heard the thoughts of people that surrounded her and she did not resent them for what they brought to the surface, what they kept hidden, what they lied about. Everyone was redeemable in her mind, which was why she would not, could not, follow Erik’s lead. “There are different ways to acknowledge the wrongs of the world as well,” Jean said. “The Professor wishes to protect us from them until we find a way that we’re comfortable with. You would have us storming into a situation with anger first, and that would do nothing other than make them even more terrified of what we are.” ‘They,’ of course, being humans. It had been mutants versus humans for as long as Jean could remember, for as far as the history books went back, but that didn’t need to be the case forever.

Of course, looking at Magneto, it was hard to remember that sometimes, to keep faith, to keep hope. He was an old man, but he was still bitter about what had been done to him as a child. Rightfully so, perhaps, but it showed that people could hold onto grudges, onto agendas, for a lifetime. “A fair point,” Jean conceded. She was more on guard out here than she had been in her apartment, for many reasons. “Do you consider the demons to be the real danger of this situation?” Erik was a revolutionary. Whether that was a good or bad thing was not for Jean to give the definitive decision on, but his thoughts were often intriguing. “And how many have fallen because of it? How many have failed to swim in deep water?”

It was only in arguing against Magneto that Jean recognised how similar he was to her beloved Professor X. They had both thrown children into a war, to fight on their behalf. Xavier protected them from the mansion, Magneto fought with his people on the ground, but was that enough to justify what they had done? Jean had never been a fighter, but now she couldn’t remember life without a war. “I came here to be alone,” Jean said. “My power isn’t like that of the Phoenix, but I’ve hurt the X-Men enough. Training alone seemed the safest option.” Jean swallowed thickly, but felt determination raise in her as the shield’s strength improved. “Do it,” she said. What could possibly go wrong?

[lifeincarncte-blog]

moonkxight:

@lifeincarncte

“I’M afraid I may be a difficult case, even for yourself.” Marc says slowly, finally meets the eyes of Jean Grey, who has been patiently sitting across from him. His father’s Star of David necklace sits in the pocket of his jacket–he’s been running his fingers intermittently over the points in an effort to put himself at some sort of ease, a form of armor in the absence of any of his other personalities or Khonshu–but at the moment it’s doing very little. It’s not like he meant to put off finding a decent professional for this long–but after spending his teenage years confined to the hospital in Chicago he’s been–soured on the practice, and it’s impossible to account for variables like the presence of Khonshu, or what is or isn’t going to make its way back to Doom–so it’s been easier to just, live with it. 

He’s hoping that this is something different, that a telepath won’t question the presence of something as foreign as the moon god in his mind–and that’s not to mention the fact that he’s put some of the strongest psychically powered people out of commission for days at a time–she could tell him that there’s nothing to be done, or gained. “I’ve been inside of my mindscape before–it’s constantly shifting, due to my dissociative identity disorder, and the presence of Khonshu–” He sighs and worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “It’s dangerous terrain for telepaths to cross, but I have no idea if the stress of being on a different–wherever we are, is going to worsen it.” 

Since opening up her own practice and getting that doctorate placed firmly in her hand at graduation, Jean had made a promise to herself that anyone who walked in through her door would receive as much help as she was humanly capable of giving them. She would not turn anyone away, would not make them feel as if they were a lost cause, purely because she believed there wasn’t such thing. That being said, she did have her fair share of extremely complicated cases, and the man sitting in front of her right now is definitely one of them.

“If I was looking for easy cases, I wouldn’t have become a telepathic therapist,” Jean said with a small smile, meeting Marc’s eyes easily. There was a darkness in them, like the moon during an eclipse. It reminded her of the months she had spent with endless opportunity to travel to the far reaches of the universe, limited only by the extents of her own imagination, and then not even that. “Did entering your mindscape before help with your dissociative identities?” Jean asked. For patients with depression, anxiety, it was beneficial facing what they feared. Other conditions, though, had much more unique and personalised treatment plans. “Do you mind if I try to enter your mind?” she asked, leaning forward slightly. “I will not enter your subconscious without your permission. I doubt that I could even if I tried.” Reaching out her psychic feelers, for lack of a better term, already provided enough information to know there was something dark, dangerous and draining inside of him. Luckily, she was made of fire, even without the Phoenix. “You have had experiences with telepaths before. Would you like to expand on those?”

[lifeincarncte-blog]

emmagrace--frost:

| @lifeincarncte

“Jeannie,” Emma smirks a little from where she was sitting, placing the book she had her nose in on the table now, quirking an eyebrow at the redhead. “It’s oddly quiet in here which means the students are up to something I should care about, or asleep,” She shrugs. She didn’t care — if they were not dying, then let them have their fun, as far as Emma was concerned.

Jean and Emma’s relationship was complicated on… good days. Jean was everything Emma was not. She was always true north and more selfless than Emma could ever imagine being. She was a good woman which was the only reason Emma tolerated her over the years. “You’re looking quite like a lost bird,” She rolls her eyes a little and kicks out the seat across from her.

Jean almost rolls her eyes at the sugary sweet voice that breaks her concentration, but manages to refrain herself. In reality, focusing on psychological journals and patient case files with Emma in the room is difficult enough. Even with their complicated history, Emma has a way of drawing all the attention towards herself, even when sitting perfectly still. Jean sighed, slid her glasses up, and set them on the small table at the end of the sofa, looking to the other end of the room where Emma was sitting. “It is eleven,” Jean pointed out, giving the clock a cursory glance. “Either they’re having a good time, or they’re getting some well deserved rest. I vote for leaving them be.”

Clearly, that was Emma’s summation as well, though it was hard to read from her face. Two telepaths in a room should have no need for spoken words, but Emma’s psychic barriers were a fortress, and Jean would prefer to keep the other woman firmly out of her mind as much as humanly possible.

“That might have something to do with where we are,” Jean said, but a small smile came onto her face, more of a smirk than anything, as she stood up. She made her way over to the seat Emma had moved, settling herself on the edge. “All of those years in space, a decade spent with a cosmic entity inside of me, and I still can’t work out what dimension we are in. Has there been much success on your end?”

[lifeincarncte-blog]

exposed-likeanerve:

It came as an immediate relief when Jean decided to drop the subject. Of course Bruce knew he was smart. The problem was that it was someone else saying it, and that was dangerous. Compliments didn’t just happen, not to him, not usually. People complimented people when they wanted something, or thought they were going to get something out of it, and he didn’t want to spend the rest of the conversation waiting and worrying over what her ulterior motive was. This was easier. He could just pay attention to what she said, and reply to it, rather than trying to ferret out what she was really after.

“That…would be through Xavier’s, right?” He knew of the school, and of course he’d been there to meet with Hank, but he knew very little about what it was actually like there, and he was naturally curious. It was one of the primary reasons he’d gone into the sciences. “You’re probably better off,” he pointed out. “There’s something about medical school that seems like it makes people into elitists.” Not everybody, of course. But he’d met more than his fair share of arrogant doctors that thought the letters after their names made them better than the rest of the world. Of course, the same could be said for the Ph.D.s of the world. “You’re one of life’s optimists,” he pointed out, smiling faintly. “Might be that trying is worth something, but not all that much. It’s succeeding that would really be worthwhile, whatever form that takes.” He could see where she was coming from, a little. Even if they didn’t make any meaningful headway with this project, just having members of their two teams working together was no bad thing. But it wasn’t enough to help anything, either. He grimaced, nodding. “I think I can promise that anything we find will hopefully have much less suspicious timing.”

“We were two of Xavier’s six original students,” Jean said, with a quickly developing grin. “Something like test subjects, maybe, but it worked out in our favour. How many kids can say they battle alien armies during their free period before lunch?” High school had not been as terrible for Jean as it was for the grand majority of the population, but that didn’t mean that she had necessarily enjoyed it. She had been one of the few mutants in the school, after all, and abundantly aware of that fact thanks to her telepathy. Being amongst other mutants, people just like her, that had meant something. It had made things easier far more than it made them complicated.

Each and every time Jean told the story, it still amazed her how everything had fallen into place. Scott had been Xavier’s first student, Jean had been his second, and the other boys had fallen in line quickly after that. They had been a family, first and foremost, and continued to be even when the entire universe seemed to threaten that stability. “My disclaimer speeches before treating people are long enough as it is for therapy,” Jean said. “I shudder to imagine describing my abilities to someone before I helped with their broken leg.” She understood why people distrusted telepaths, understood it completely, but it did make for a lot of headaches. At least her current patients knew her well enough to trust that she wouldn’t interfere in their thoughts without permission. “I try to be,” Jean admitted, the unsaid being that sometimes she fell short. “Potential dangers aside, do you find having all the questions and none of the answers frustrating or interesting? I say I would be the latter, but lately, I’m definitely edging towards throwing wardrobes around without any villains to hit,” she joked.

[lifeincarncte-blog]

cloudwclker:

@lifeincarncte

Intuition had always been what Ororo relied upon most. She had never once trusted Doom nor his intentions, it came as no surprise that he had released the contents of his personal list, though he had withheld the extent of people’s powers and thankfully, no identities were attached. No person in power asked for such priceless information without ulterior motives but thankfully, several mutants had listed, allowing some of the heat to be thrown onto other heroes. It was a small thing to be grateful for, but Ororo was obviously pleased that her plan had gone accordingly. That being said, she hated the fact that people had had their trust broken, and she hated that numerous heroes were getting such merciless treatment.

A day after the party, Ororo had requested that Jean meet her at a small, discreet diner. She preferred to be at the mansion, but with the chaos on the streets, she felt it important to be close to the heroes facing repercussion for their refusal. Ororo refused to allow people to be harmed solely for exercising their liberties. “Thank you for coming to lunch,” she said, offering Jean a bright smile as her friend sat across from her. Absently, Ororo’s eyes drifted outside and she frowned at the sight of the angry signs and loud chants, demanding that heroes comply with Doom. “What do you make of our president leaking the list?” She asked quietly, turning her attention back to Jean, obviously troubled.

There were more than a few in the mansion who had followed Ororo and Scott’s lead, Jean included, and signed on the dotted line when Doom asked them to step forward. A few of them, now, were celebrating the fact that they had dodged a metaphorical bullet, and Jean could understand that response. After all, mutants faced more than enough persecution for their abilities, were approached with fear and not much else simply for something they couldn’t control. Humans saw mutants refusing to list their abilities as a threat, potentially even more so than they did with other enhanced humans. Jean and Ororo were free from the consequences those who hadn’t signed were currently facing, but that didn’t mean either of them were going to sit back and relax in that fact - it wasn’t their way, never had been.

When Ororo asked Jean to meet her at a diner, one that they only went to when they preferred to have serious conversations like this one without telepaths intruding albeit accidentally, Jean hadn’t hesitated before agreeing. Now, she was sitting across from her friend, matching her smile despite the fact that worry gnawed at her. “As if I would ever say no to lunch with you, Ro,” Jean replied. Ororo’s gaze moved to the window, and Jean’s did the same thing. She sighed lightly, looking back to the menu in front of them. “I think it was inevitable,” Jean said. “The government has proven again and again that it will do what’s required to achieve its own ends. Doom is no exception.” Jean paused. “He kept the identities secret, though,” she mused. “Another man may have revealed everything, whether that benefited him or not.” Orse’s memory, Skrull or no, was fresh. “Do you think there is anything we can do to calm the storm?” 

[lifeincarncte-blog]

cyclxpswasright:

Leaving the mansion was already risky, but he knew that every student who had agreed to study under the X-Men expected a little risk now and then. He couldn’t shelter them and most mutants knew just how bleak the world could be immediately after experiencing their first mutation. Some parents were supportive (he liked to think his own parents would have loved him as they always had) but that was a best case scenario. Being a mutant in the world was brave, maybe even braver than being an X-Man and disguising yourself with a costume. 

The demons were another matter, a very real and immediate threat. Scott had a hard time believing that these things stood a chance against anyone on his team and he had almost the same confidence in the kids. But still, it was always scary, throwing his students to the wolves. Of course, he and Jean would be there to help. Scott wasn’t the kind of teacher or leader who could push people to their limits just to come swooping in at the last second, at least not outside of the Danger Room. Jean was oddly chipper about the opportunity presented, which made him a little less wary.

“That’s one way to put it,” he said with a faint smile, but his nerves kept the expression at bay. “Books don’t get enough credit. You learn more about how to replace a bike’s engine by reading a manual, not by ripping it out and trying to figure it out from there.” The kids seemed to be having fun with this fight, though. He didn’t want them to think he didn’t have any faith in them by jumping in right away. “Someone is keeping us here by choice, but they’re not trying to kill everyone. Not yet, anyways. Who comes out looking like a hero every day that we continue to live?” Doom, even if he was the one patting himself on the back.

Although Jean had made the decision to leave the mansion and spend the grand majority of her time working on her own independent career, the school was still something that was deeply important to her. Xavier’s had left an imprint on her heart, if not for the amazing opportunities that it presented for people like her and the home that it had created for those who were often cast out by their own families, then by the people that she had met through it. Scott, as per usual, was a massive part of her returning time and time again to the school, and bringing the kids out for a trip was as much an excuse to put on her teaching cap again as it was to spend time with him.

Did she need an excuse? Jean wasn’t entirely sure, and she definitely wasn’t in a position where she felt comfortable enough to ask. Demons were an infinitely safer topic of conversation, as was their ‘beloved’ president, and that was really saying something. “I don’t know,” Jean said, a grin developing on her face. “I learned plenty when Dad ripped out the engine out of my first car. Turns out if you don’t attach the thingy to the whatchacallit, your tyre comes off in the middle of the freeway.”

Claire threw a fireball at one of the demons, and a second later realised that she could raise herself up off the ground. Considering the fact that none of their friends had come to assist, Jean was confident enough leaving them for a moment. Together, she and Scott could end the fight after the kids wore themselves out. “You’ve got me there. Is it Oprah?” Jean’s smile faded somewhat, though, as she looked out through the park’s gates, seeing Doom Boulevard stretching out in front of them. “It's hard to tell how much of that is the man himself, or the fact that he’s a politician. All of them are trying to capitalise on this,” Jean mused. “A captive population doesn’t seem to benefit anything, especially considering we already elected him. All I know is I definitely didn’t vote for him.” Come to think of it, Jean was hard pressed to find someone who had.

[lifeincarncte-blog]

akagoddammit:

The sky was a violent shade of purple now, and silent lightning cracked it open. The flashes of light left scars of white across the sky, bleeding as they grew outwards. There was an ash in the air, the smell of gasoline and smoke. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw pieces of rubber in the street. Were they minivan tires, or bus tires? Both? Broken bottles littered the sidewalk, along with pieces of yellow Gameboy plastic, and on every corner was a flickering ATM, the front end smashed to pieces, dollar bills floating in the wind. 

Jessica saw all of it, a little bit at a time. Hyperfocusing on every detail as it came into view, but her vision tunneled as she ran. Then she only caught glimpses. The restaurant. The hotel. The shop where she bought Him a tie and lingerie for herself, but it wasn’t really for her, wasn’t really a gift – her soul had been the gift, and He was celebrating his month-long ownership of it. 

Jean’s voice echoed aloud, somewhere behind her, but Jessica didn’t stop. Didn’t stop until her lungs burned, until her head was spinning and the world spun with it. The voices screamed at her all the while, both of them, mixing together. A terrifying music that made her heart lurch in her chest You need to face it, Jessica! Come back here! You wanted to face it! Stop there, Jessica Jones! Now Jessica! She fell to her knees in the middle of the street. Staring at all the places that should’ve been so far apart, but were so connected in the fault-lines of her mind. Her childhood home, that was the blue building on the horizon, the one that never came any closer. Rudy’s bar was there, pulling at her like there was a magnet in her chest, but she could see a body slumped in the alleyway, and she closed her eyes tight. She clenched her hands into fists, pulling up pieces of the pavement with her, the ground crumbling to dust in her fingertips, and somehow, she managed to stand before Jean arrived. 

The sight of Trish’s apartment, that ghostly figure in the window – that made her stop. The whole world around them had stilled, the pieces of ash falling from the sky literally frozen in place. But that figure still moved, and so did Jessica as she shuffled forwards, uncertain on her feet. Jean’s voice made her stumble, and when she turned around, she could see how bright the woman looked. Like there was a fire glowing in her veins. Jessica just stared at her confused (why was she here, why did she look like that, what was she saying?) and blinked slowly. Her eyes drifted to the building behind Jean, and a look of shock crossed her face. “I know that building,” she said finally. “I’ve been there before.” 

She stepped towards it, not scared anymore, but her heart was still pounding. Trish’s apartment was behind her, but this building loomed in front, a strange, antique-like sign over the door. Industrial Garments & Handling Facility. “IGH,” she murmured. “It – it was an early headquarters they had, before they merged with DermaFree. I found the other day, but there was nothing… Nothing there,” she said softly.  Are you sure you want to do this? Are you ready to do this? Jean’s words were echoing through her mind, not quite reaching her when they were meant to, because Jessica’s hand was already on the door, pushing it open. 

If a door won’t stay closed, build a stronger door. That had always been her mantra. It was the reason she drank, so she wasn’t strong enough to even try to open doors like this. But now she was sober, wanted to be sober – but did she want to do this? Jean’s question still stood. Was she ready to do this? 

She opened the door. “What’s happening?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at Jean. “Why is it doing that?” Inside, the floors, the walls, the ceilings – they were all flickering. The entire shape of them. One second they were the dilapidated, abandoned offices she recognized from her fruitless search the other day. Rusted out metal and stains on the walls, fluorescents smashed above them. The next, the walls were clean, the air sterile and stinking of antiseptic, the flourescents flickering but functional. The sound of footsteps just around the corner. Jessica stood frozen in the doorway, hands shaking as they clenched the frame. “What’s happening to me?” 

Jean had brought other people into her mindscape since conquering it herself. It was a valuable teaching tool, and she had long since managed to craft psychic barriers to hide her deepest secrets from view, especially if it were students she was bringing in. One of the youngest students in the Institute, Ying, was a relatively powerful psi, but the damage that she had caused was disproportionate to her potential power level. The reason for that was simple - the young girl was absolutely terrified, and launching out at anyone around her because of that. Jean had sat down with her, had passed over a cup of tea, had touched her hand, and had brought her into a watered down version of her mindscape.

Although there had been no burning flesh, no people with wide, uncanny grins and blank stares, there had still been the fire. Jean could never escape that, at least not entirely. Ying had looked around, wide eyed, and had turned to Jean with the summation that she was standing in the middle of hell. As far as Jean was concerned, though, Jessica’s mindscape was far closer to that description.

At least in Jean’s mindscape there was colour. There was hot heat licking at her face, yes, but there was something there that was alive, something that was life incarnate, something that would never die. Jessica’s mindscape was as far away from the eternal flame as a person could get. It was cold, it was empty, it was surrounded by nothing but whispers of other people or dying friends, and that was the terrifying thing. The only person that was alive in the entire landscape was Jean, and she was an intruder. The purple mist almost seemed to laugh at her, wrapped itself around her legs in an attempt to quell the flames. It was as if the entire place was attempting to reject her, push her out, get rid of the potential of help before it threatened the norm.

Jessica’s mind was strong. Jean had known that a long time before, had recognised it when she heard the story of Kilgrave for the first time. No one fought back against mind control successfully enough, bluffed well enough, to get through and kill the person holding the reins. Now, it was strong in fighting back against people who wanted to help as well as hurt. Jean figured she should have predicted that much, should have seen it coming. Going into mindscapes meant being prepared for the unexpected, but maybe she had been neglecting the expected as a result.

Jean stepped forward, inclined to tell Jessica to be careful, but they were in her own mind. There was nothing here that could hurt her, at least not physically. Psychologically, they could work on. Jean allowed her to move, didn’t interfere in the slightest, though she did furrow her eyebrows as she read the name at the same time as Jessica did. “This building holds some kind of meaning for you?” Jean asked, though that much was obvious from Jessica’s reverence in approaching it. “Perhaps there’s nothing there now, but we aren’t looking at the present day. We are looking at a memory.”

This time, Jean’s suspicions were confirmed within moments. They stepped into the warehouse, and Jean glanced around at the walls of the building. Her flames did not reflect off the walls, didn’t glint off the medical instruments scattered around on carts pulled to the corner. It was as if they were nothing but paper dolls walking into a scene, and that much was an apt description. “It’s a repressed memory,” Jean said. “We’ve gone into your subconscious somehow. Sometimes that happens, especially if it’s in your recent thoughts. Have you been looking into IGH extensively recently?” Jean could hear the footsteps coming, could sense the anxiety rolling off Jessica in waves. “We don’t need to go this far on the first session,” Jean said quickly, stepping in front of the corner. “We can leave at any stage, Jessica. You are in control here, not the memory. You are more than what happened to you.”

[lifeincarncte-blog]

formutantkind:

It was easy, in this world, to overlook the simplest of truths. The Homo-Superior hid among the homo-sapiens everyday, with none the wiser until it was far too late for whomever won the battle that day. Erik himself had hid in plain sight for decades, and still did. Of course, the sapiens also willfully ignored the truth of their own inferiority, it was not surprising how blind they were. No, what truly surprised him was how easily people, Mutant and human alike, overlooked Jean.

She held the potential to be one of the world’s most powerful Mutants. A potential that became closer and closer to reality every day. And so many at that school looked at her and saw nothing more than a friendly face, a warm smile, a sweet disposition. Jean had those, but there was so much more to her. There was a fire in her soul, burning bright and beautiful, but tragic all the same. Like a glorious viking funeral, the flames a symbol of both death and power. Like a blazing wildfire, one that could consume everything in its path. 

He could sense the sparks of that flame now, and a wry smile crossed his lips. Her loyalty lay with Xavier, of course. For now. But this world was ever so changeable, and Erik knew that a fire like that would not lay dormant for long. Charles could try to snuff it out, smother it, stifle it, but sooner or later, it would burst forth. “And yet, he refuses to acknowledge the reality of how unsafe we all are,” Erik countered. He held up a hand. “But let us not rehash the old wounds. I’m sure the debate grows wearisome for you.” It never did for him, but he also didn’t want a reminder of how far apart their ideologies were currently. One day, she could return to him, he still believed that. But not while her heart lay with the school. 

Erik raised a brow. “Does one need a formal setting to guide his pupils?” he asked, phrasing it as though it were merely a philosophical query. A hypothetical, like he had posed to her dozens of times during their time together. “I may not subscribe to Charles’ standards for curriculum, but many of the Homo-Superior who come to me are young. They need guidance, training, and yes, education. I do what I can to provide it. Sometimes, there are many ways to achieve the same goal.” A thought occurred to him and he chuckled to himself. “Actually, it was Charles himself who said that to me. Once upon a time. I disagreed with his particulars, but the principle… That seems true enough.” His eyes met hers and he shrugged. “I suppose you’ll have to decide for yourself, my dear. As in everything that matters in this world.” But he had a feeling he knew what her response would be, and the hopeful smile on her face confirmed it. Erik stepped back, giving her the space to truly push her limits. What an arrangement this would be indeed, even if it was short-lived. Even if it was just one day.

Orange light burst from her skin, the telltale figure taking shape. That glorious creature, wings wrapped around Jean, raw power channeled into light and fire enveloped her. The sand kicked up around her, blowing out in every direction, as if he were standing in the center of a storm. He kept the air in front of his face clear enough, using the metallic traces in the sand to push them out of his way. “Oh, I wouldn’t dare put a limitation on your potential, my dear,” he breathed, stretching out a hand. The force-field surrounding her shimmered when his fingertips met it, but there was no give at all. “You’ve done well, for doing this alone,” he mused, walking slowly around her. “The shield is complete, surrounds you entirely. Have you tested its effectiveness? How much it can withstand?” 

Professor Lehnsherr - because that was what he was in her mind, even now, even all these years later when the last vestiges of the teacher that she had adored died out on the lawn of the mansion - had always reiterated to Jean that Xavier was holding her back in some regard or another. Her telepathy was a gift, it was something that she needed to utilise, but Jean had always resolutely focused entirely on her telekinesis instead. Any lesson that she spent on her own mind was done to help other people, or to construct barriers around it to protect herself from villains, or hearing other people’s thoughts unnecessarily.

There was a reason for that, and it could simply be boiled down to one word - fear. Jean was terrified of what she could be, what she had already been. As the Phoenix, she had burned entirely through lies. She had seen how people suffered, how they cheated each other, the darkest secrets that they kept buried in the bottom of their mind, how they hated those that they claimed to love. Telepathy was a dangerous game, it was a power much greater than any human had the true capacity to hold, and Jean had seen it wielded by evil people so often that she was damned if she was even risking joining their ranks for a second.

She had power in abundance. Sharing it with Rogue had only reaffirmed that, and the fact that she didn’t feel empty after the Phoenix pulled away proved that a lot of what she had done was her own abilities (whether that was a relief or not, she wasn’t entirely sure). It was her responsibility to keep that in check as best as she could, just as it was her purpose to protect other people using it. “Perhaps he made the decision a long time ago to focus on the good in the world and stuck to that, instead,” Jean argued. “It seems like a better existence than anger and hatred.” That was not all Erik Lehnsherr was, he knew that and she knew that, but it was a massive part of what made him so dangerous.

He was one of the only people that Jean knew that was anywhere close to her level of power, and that meant that he understood what it meant to hold back. She wondered, sometimes, whether he held back half as much as he said he did when he was working with the Brotherhood. He pulled his punches with the X-Men, he was fighting his own kind, but with humans, did he give them the same chance? “A formal setting would be better than a battlefield, would it not?” Jean countered. “From what I’ve heard, you have less students and more recruits.” The people that went to him were young, frightened, determined to protect their people, vulnerable to the wisdom he divulged on them. Jean knew all about it - he had tried with her on many occasions. “A lot of his principles are true. Maybe you just need reminding of that, Professor.”

Yet, even with all her anger, they fell into all too familiar habits once again. They followed the same patterns repeatedly, seemed destined to do it until the day they died. Whether Jean found comfort in that or was sickened by it, she couldn’t say. She was inclined towards the former. “I wasn’t alone,” Jean said, focusing almost entirely on keeping the shield in place. “I have my family beside me.” She shook her head. “Not extensively. I have used it a few times on the field, but only for my own protection. I wouldn’t trust it for civilians.” Or at least, she wouldn’t have, a few weeks ago. She had come on leaps and bounds since then, and the anger simmering in her at the sight of her former teacher … well, it was only increasing the strength of the shield.

[lifeincarncte-blog]

sugardonttouchme:

She was glad Jean could sound so confident, cuz her heart was hammering in her chest like a hummingbird’s wings. A thousand worst-case scenarios dashed through her mind, each more horrific than the last. She had seen the kind of things that happened to Mutants, especially ones that couldn’t control their powers. Especially ones that were scared.

She bit her lip hard as Jean concentrated, physically resisting the urge to hurry her on. They were rapidly running out of time, and Hank’s teleport devices would only take them back to the mansion. Hitting it meant admitting defeat, meant sentencing Chantel to being alone. And there was nothing worse when you were scared to death than being alone. 

“Books,” Anna Marie repeated. She pulled out her phone, typed in ‘books near me’ as fast as she could, and the results popped up seconds later. “The library’s closest. About three blocks away, and maybe the MGH let her travel that far – especially if she’s been there before.” The library was huge though, and even if she was there, there were plenty of hiding places. It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.

The shouting and banging behind them was growing closer, and Anna Marie felt terror grip her chest. But then Jean held her hand out, and she was confused at first, until the explanation came. She hesitated, only a fraction of a second, her eyes desperately searching for some other answer in Jean’s eyes. There wasn’t one. “Okay,” she said, taking a deep breath in. “Brace yourself, sugar. I’m sorry,” she whispered. The men rounded the corner and one of them shouted at them, but in the same instant, Anna Marie ripped off her glove and grabbed Jean’s hand.

The sensation was instant. An overwhelming tidal wave surging through her veins, making her scream as not just Jean’s thoughts, but the thoughts she had picked up from the club raced into her brain. Count, she told herself through it all. The flashes of worry and fear and music and books and drugs were seriously scattering her, she couldn’t focus, but she forced herself to think about the numbers. Four seconds. Five. Six. Seven –

She let go. “Oh,” she said simply staring down at her hands. The power tingled in her fingertips, unlike anything she had ever borrowed before. Was this how Jean felt all the time? She could hear strange, muffled voices flitting through her mind – the thoughts of the people around them? No time to wonder, because the men were rushing at them, and Anna Marie did the only thing she could think to do. She reacted on pure instinct, and thrust her hand out. The man who was nearly on top of her went flying backwards, hit the far wall with a thud. “Oh!” she said again. “Oh wow, sugar. Ain’t that something.” 

When it came to people that she knew well, the friends that were closest to her heart, it went one of two ways. Either Jean was entirely capable of blocking out their thoughts, well attuned to the ebb and flow of their emotions and therefore able to construct appropriate psychic blocks to maintain their privacy, or she was unable to prevent it simply because she felt no need to be guarded in any way around them. Rogue was one of the people that she felt the most closely, whose emotions mirrored her own and indeed enhanced them.

Tonight, though, they both needed to push their worry, their fear and concern, down as far as they could. Chantel was relying on them, even if she didn’t recognise that to be the case at this moment in time. Jean searched through her mind desperately once again, pushing her abilities further, but Chantel was too far away, her mind was far too chaotic, and heavily influenced by the effects of MGH. Jean wasn’t getting anywhere without contact, or the girl opening up her thoughts to her, and she wasn’t going to risk prying around in a girl’s subconscious when she was unstable already.

“Sounds like it’s the best plan, all things considered. The library offers plenty of places to hide as well.” That would not help Chantel in this case, of course. Jean could perform a psychic sweep of the area, and Rogue was known around the mansion as the person to go to if you lost a penny. They were one hell of a team. There was a reason why the Professor had trusted them with this mission, after all. Hopefully by the end of the day they would have a new student to bring into their home, into their family.

Jean nodded once more at Rogue, meeting her eyes to reaffirm that she was ready, and then she felt the floodgates open. It didn’t feel like releasing her psychic energy into someone else to explore their mindscape. It didn’t even feel like the relief of building up and up and up and finally exploding, finally being able to let go without hurting someone. Instead, it felt as if slowly blood was being drained from her veins, like she was a balloon deflating through the smallest of holes. The lake was not a crater by the end, though. There was still power there, tingling at the end of her fingers, ready to be utilised.

Was this how other people felt? Jean had to admit, although there was a part of herself missing, it was a lot easier to control. She didn’t have to consciously block out thoughts, at least not compared to usual, and her telekinesis took so much focus that throwing a door into someone was impossible to do accidentally. The men ran towards them, Rogue sent one flying, and Jean pulled her hands together. When she did, two of the men lifted off the ground and bashed into each other, slumping down to the ground.

Another came towards them, this time with wide eyes, and Jean focused intently on him, touching her finger to her temple. The man collapsed, gripping his head in pain. “Telepathic migraines hurt like a bitch,” Jean said to Rogue, voice about as weak as she felt, though she managed to nudge the man with her foot on her way out. She wasn’t a saint! “You feel okay to fly? It would get us there faster.” At that, Jean flattened her hands beside her to demonstrate, waiting for a moment before floating off the ground. Luckily, she didn’t feel as if she was about to shoot through the ceiling this time. Small mercies!