I WANT THIS THING OFF MY LAWN.

[cykehead]

#RIGHTCLOPS

𝙲𝙰𝙽𝙾𝙽-𝙳𝙸𝚅𝙴𝚁𝙶𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝙿𝙾𝚁𝚃𝚁𝙰𝚈𝙰𝙻 𝙾𝙵 SCOTT " CYCLOPS " SUMMERS 𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼 MARVEL X-MEN. heavily inspired by jed mackay's, bendis, mike carey, whedon, fraction, gillen, lodell, nicieza, and morrison. █ black adult mun. practicing muslim. low-activity. story as told by gully.

updated graphic credits: @vendettacoms

exploring the following: POLITICS, CIVIL RIGHTS, GENOCIDE, WORLD HISTORY, CHILD SOLDIERS, ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIPS, ALBEISM, RACISM, EXISTENTIALISM, GENDER IDENTITY, SLAVERY, SEX WORK, BODY HORROR, HUMAN EXPLOITATION, ANTIMISCEGENATION, PSYCHOLOGY, HOMOPHOBIA, RELIGION, OCCULT, DRUG & ALCOHOL USE, TRAUMA, SOCIALISM, COMMUNISM, AND IMPERIALISM. TRIGGERS WILL BE TAGGED ACCORDINGLY.

affiliates/mains/exclusives: magik @belayadyavol

updated rules as of 3/10/2025 below

creative choices: in the last couple of years, I've peeped people jackin' my hcs, writing, face claim (very specific choices i might add, because i like being in my own lane and i don't care to look like everyone else). it's high-key corny, especially when some of the same mutuals sit on my blog. this happened one too many times, but all i can say is ya'll need to develop your individuality and stop the nonsense.

mutality "contract": if we're mutuals, great! do not attempt to force me to write with one of your muses, oc or canon, if you're a multi-muse blog. if i choose to interact with a particular muse(s) you have, it is not because your other muses are necessarily uninteresting; it just means you have a muse that holds my attention and i want to direct my energy with.

drama: i just want to point this one thing out: it is very obvious when people send themselves anon hate. tactics like that, just to garner attention? just rile people up and set off a domino effect and now everyone in the fandom is responding to vitriol that you send yourself? i despise it. i do have "ooc" tag filtered, but to know that you're setting yourself and people up when they should be enjoying the hobby aggravates me, and I'll unfollow you. if it is organic anon hate.. well, i can't tell you how to run your blog, but my suggestion is to delete it and move on?

black muses: in the past, i've been biased against non-black writers writing black muses, because of the lack of respect that gets shown toward their characterization, and it was an old rule of mine, that i will not follow a sole black muse blog [if it's multi, then i would prefer to interact with the non-black muses.], if the writers weren't black themselves. i still have those biases, but i will take my chances on people if the portrayals seems promising. it's a case-by-case basis, i'm not interested in delving in any further than that.

update 3/10: real talk, there's two things specific things that's been irritating to me. 1) ya'll need to look into what colorism is. 2) the fetishization of black muses be killing me. i'm tired of weird ass portrayals on here. all shade, because the community is very small, so there's no need to really ask me who. ya'll know who. get it together.

my general rule of thumb: you are the master curators of your own safe space. do what thou wilt. if the aforementioned themes aren’t to your liking, I am not the writer for you. if you cannot stand the thought of being unable to tone police a thirty-year-old man, i will never be the ideal writing partner for you. if low-activity blogs do not suit your preferences, please feel free to block me.

i have no personal issues with anyone, so do not inquire about me to a mutual or personally contact me regarding what you may perceive as '"beef". the only beef i have is with people who perpetuate what i already established above.

many of us say this until we're blue in the face, but yes, all i care about is writing and creating connections with great writers.

comics: i'm slowly brushing up on my x-men history, so forgive me, because i'm not an aficionado on lore. i'm focused primarily on stories that are the strongest for cyke's development. any questions, feel free to ask! but i do adhere to the revolutionary growth his character underwent.

but as far as the classic love triangles go? growing up on the 90s cartoon, and the original live action movies, i hated them. jean, logan, emma, etc. i understand fans might find it 'spicy', but it's been a headache, so understand, the triangle does not exist whatsoever.

ooc interactions: discord is available, but i am a slow responder at times. i'm hesitant on this as of recently because people show weird energy, but we'll see.

[cykehead]

the many faces of cyclops (the cyverse):

i decided to conduct an experiment on this and make this blog a multimuse of cyclops variants. in the future, ya'll can let me know which cyclops yall want to work with.

corporal scott "sancho" summers (earth-70213), a black-american who was formerly a gullah-geechee slave and beaten regularly as a child. this cruelty continued until after his mother died, and the trauma led to his mutant powers' activation. dr. xavier and colonel fury recruited and trained him to use his powers. he later served in the 1st south carolina volunteer infantry (colored) regiment, earning the rank of corporal, and an exceptional team comprised of james rhodes, and ororo munroe. together, they effectively ended the american civil war in merely two weeks. during this period, scott killed over six thousand confederates. despite their victory, they were feared by their compatriots and people. corporal summers joined an interdimensional team (x-force/x-men), defending the multiverse from corrupted xaviers, and currently resides in 616. timeline flexible.

fc: mustafa shakir.

scott "sesnena / saving land" summer (earth-14923/marvel rivals), an alaskan native (koyukon athabascan), born in anchorage, alaska. after living a life and fighting prejudice, he dropped xavier's ideology and created a global mutant revolution. s.h.i.e.l.d eventually murdered him, but after magneto led an uncompromising campaign to unite the planet's mutant population, and they settled on the sentient island krakoa, magneto orchestrated scott's resurrection in their new homeland, now that mutantkind was finally able to find a safe haven. the resurrection left him with many existential questions as he simaltenously tries to come to grips with his new home. he acts on the quiet council in ororo or magneto absence, but he more active fighting alongside them, other timeline displaced heroes, and the fantastic four to bring an end to the two doom's plans. timeline flexible.

fc: martin sensmeier.

scott "slim" summers (time-displaced/616), a descendant of british immigrant daniel summers and german(?)-american amanda müeller. the firstborn son of corsair, a space pirate, and the first of the x-men who went from an xavierist ideologue to a symbol of radical change of mutantkind. he is the captain commander, mentor, and one of the most iconic leaders of the x-men. timeline flexible.

fc: theo james.

[cykehead]

i've waited too long for this.

[cykehead]

@lumikinetics | unprompted

“ do what thou wilt, but never do harm. ” he said, almost absentmindedly.

the line had lingered longer than scott expected it to. it hadn’t come from the bible. at least not any version he’d committed to memory. the 'neighborhood priest' who’d said it had been an unlikely ally: collar always crisp, hands folded neatly over a stack of pamphlets advocating for mutant protections. he’d offered the phrase not as doctrine, but as a boundary. a measuring stick. freedom, yes—but tethered to consequences. as x-men, as mutants, they're being watched at all corners.

mutants should be free to do what they want, as long as it doesn't hurt nobody, basically. simple.

scott had taken note.

the curtains slid shut with a muted rasp, fabric blotting the last of the daylight before it could spill too far into the room. jubilee didn’t technically need the darkness, from what he understood—the lightbender amulet offered her some protection—but scott didn’t trust “somewhat” as a margin of safety. not when xarus had already made it clear that her tribulations was part of the hunt.

“ damn xarus, ” he said quietly, not as an outburst but as assessment. the name settled uncomfortably in his mouth like foul bile. scott turned back toward her, tracking the seams where light still tried to press through. the priest’s words surfaced again, stubborn.

do what thou wilt.

they always did.

harm, however, had a way of arriving first when predators decided to rewrite the rules. “ you’re bothered, ” he observed evenly. “ good. that means you’re thinking. ” he stepped closer near enough to be within reach if she needed it. outside, the merle, alaska was unaware of how thin the boundary between daylight and predation had become.

“ we don’t get to choose what he is, ” scott continued. “ we do get to choose how we respond and deal with it. ” the curtains held. the room dimmed into something manageable, he hoped. “ talk to me. should i make some calls? ” he may not be the one of the x-men she goes to talk with the most, but he was here for her. here for all of his people.

even as she deals with this infliction, she was still his people.

[cykehead]

"i'd shut my eyes tight, if i were you."

@fassades | the hike.

funny.

deathstroke was being humorous, in a way that wasn’t meant to make anyone laugh. it settled in the chest like a slow ember pressed down into bone, unmoving, patient. cyclops didn’t respond right away. he let deathstroke’s words sit where they’d been placed, allowed them to finish becoming what they were meant to be. it hadn’t been courtesy. it hadn’t been concern. it was a threat, honed to a point and aimed carefully. cyclops understood exactly where it was meant to land.

the visor hummed softly against his temples, a pressure he’d long since stopped resisting. vision, for cyclops, was never passive. it was something he held, something he managed. discipline, containment, survival—each bound up in the act of keeping his eyes open. even waking up he had to be careful. men like slade mistook that for weakness, for something that could be taken, neutralized, turned against him. cyclops had buried enough people who’d believed that to know the pattern.

he didn’t close his eyes.

with men like deathstroke, awareness wasn’t optional. it was the line between staying upright and becoming an object lesson. cyclops stayed exactly where he was, posture unchanged, gaze fixed at a slight angle—visor tilted just enough to make the message quite clear. what deathstroke was looking at wasn’t fear. wasn’t hesitation. wasn’t anything remotely approaching weakness.

“ i’m sure you’d like that, ” cyclops said, voice smooth, unhurried. no bravado. no challenge. just fact, delivered with the same calm he used to read a battlefield or call a retreat. whatever deathstroke thought he was threatening, cyclops had already accounted for it. “ good thing you're not me. ”

his words weren't a joke. they weren't a dare. they were a mere statement of fact. he remained still, eyes open, stance unbroken—expression saying what words didn’t need to.

sight wasn’t his weakness. it wasn’t a liability.

it was leverage.

[cykehead]

SENDER pins RECEIVER in place.

@stabyoureyes

the impact fiercely drove the air from his lungs, breath leaving him in a sharp, involuntary sound as his back met unforgiving ground. cyclops registered the pain immediately—the pressure where he was pinned, how much weight stryfe distributed throughout his muscles to keep him there, and what angle would have mattered if movement was still an option. he allowed this to happen, however. straining and trashing about uselessly wasn't exactly the first instinct that came to mind. panic was a currency he refused to spend on a sadist who wanted to be paid in it.

he wasn't playing a beat in this executioner's song.

he wouldn't.

this wasn't war. it was posturing. a young pup dressed in apocalypse, reenacting lessons he learned too late and too violently, mistaking cruelty for inevitability of his own amateur designs. cyclops felt the bitterness settle in. his disappointment carried more mass than rage ever had.

stryfe wanted to make a spectacle. wanted a scene that ended with a father on his knees, begging—some grotesque ritual meant to turn humiliation into proof. cyclops wouldn't do it. not here. not in this life, or the next, or any universe where a cyclops still had a spine. it wasn’t because he was too proud—but because it was a lie.

you didn’t extort someone to love you.

fatherhood wasn’t something you had to prove and cry to have on someone under duress, even extreme.

his jaw was set firmly in his resolve. when he spoke, his voice was level and devoid of any weak tremble that might be perceived as hope by stryfe.

“ this isn’t going to give you what you think it will, ” cyclops said. “ get yourself together and stop wasting time with frivolous theatrics. if you're going to claim my blood, my name, then act like you understand what it means. ”

he refused to look away and refused to dramatize this thing between with false tenderness. if this was going to end in blood shedding blood, it would end without him offering any intentional misunderstandings, false premises or promises.

some wars didn't need participation. some sons didn't need to be forgiven to be understood. and cyclops would not kneel to be loved.

[shoogachi]

Eh.

[belayadyavol]

PRE-ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP MEME. */ @cykehead. -- bold for things i could definitely see or want, italics for things i could see or am unsure of and striked out for things i don’t want or cannot see.

FRIENDSHIP.     childhood friends  /  work buddies or coworkers  /  family friends  /  friends with benefits  /  smoking buddies  /  adventure buddies  /  fake friends  /  recently friends  /  party buddies  /  friendship of need  /  dying friendship  /  circumstantial friendship  /  partners in crime  /  old friendship  /  [ your muse ] is the good influence  /  [ your muse ] is the bad influence  /  [ my muse ] is the good influence  /  [ my muse ] is the bad influence  /  opposites attract  /  ride or die  /  frenemies  /  roommates or flatmates  /  penpals  /  exes to friends  /  enemies to friends  /  other

ROMANCE.     childhood sweethearts  /  [ your muse is mines ] childhood crush  /  [ my muse is yours ] childhood crush  /  exes  /  exes to lovers  /  forbidden lovers  /  highschool sweethearts  /  secret relationship  /  opposites attract  /  long distance  /  unrequited [ from your muses side ]  /  unrequited [ from my muses side ]  /  unrequited [ from both sides ]  /  skinny love  /  friends to lovers  /  enemies to lovers  /  spurious relationship  /  power couple  /  newly entered  /  soulmates [ metaphorical ]  /  soulmates  [ literal ]  /  awkward  /  turning toxic  /  toxic love  /  cheating [ on your muse ]  /  cheating [ with your muse ]  /  other 

FAMILIAL.     siblings [ half ]  /  siblings [ step ]  /  [ my muse ] is an older sibling figure to your younger sibling figure  /  [ my muse ] is a younger sibling figure to your older sibling figure muse  /  [ my muse ] is a parental figure to yours  /  [ my muse ] is a child figure to your muse  /  guardian figure  /  legal guardian  /  adoptive child  /  foster child  /  [ your muse ] is taken under mines wing  /  [ my muse ] is taken under yours wing  /  other

ANTAGONISTIC.     dangerous to each other  /  dangerous to others  /  unpredictable  /  rivals  /  petty  /  developing into sexual or romantic tension  /  based off family matters  /  based of off circumstance  /  based of professional matters  /  based off misunderstanding or lies  /  conflict of ideology  /  betrayal  /  hero - villain dynamic  /  enemies  /  fight club  /  friends turned enemies  /  lovers turned enemies  /  exes turned enemies  /  other 

[pyrbird]

@cykehead : have you washed your face? your face is still dirty. prompt.

blood dries quickly upon flushed skin, mingling with the freckles that dot across her skin like constellations. jean barely glances back at scott as she scrubs her hands raw under the frigid faucet, shaky breaths ripping from her lungs with every uneven beat of her heart. she can hear them still, wailing in her mind like poltergeists ; their pain merging with hers until she was of several minds. none of them would make it out of the wreckage.

in this day, this hour, this moment ; jean hates the professor. hates him with such a passion she can feel the cosmic current of power bubble under her skin with the need to destroy. but she understands, and she hates that too. she knows that they needed a telepath to help locate any potential survivors in the aftermath of the explosion, but why her?

callously she had hoped there had been none, that the moment her boots hit the ground all she would hear is silence. but there was no way for hope to shine through on such a tragedy. jean takes another shaky breath as she cups the now tepid water and rubs it over her face, scratching away the dried blood and leaving little red welts behind.

“ i don't want to go back to the mansion tonight, ” she murmurs quietly after a few minutes of silence. “ i need to be away from people. ” from the professor and his pitying gaze. “ will you stay with me? ”

[cykehead]

one moment it was a strong stream of water, and the next it was dull by the time her voice filtered the air, the faucet’s chill no longer doing the work it had been assigned. our cyclops had stayed in his position, just inside the threshold, bordering her circumference just enough she didn’t have to go out of her way to locate him, but not close enough to invade her space. he had studied this geometry more times than he wanted to recall. and it was always the hard. always, always the hard way. too close was like trying to light a powder keg. too far was like abandonment.

he wouldn't do that to her.

the blood dried to a deeper color, almost maroon, almost black, in a matter of seconds, rather than minutes. it seemed to soak into her skin as if it were meant to be there in the first place. he automatically scanned it, the placement of freckles, the abrasions left by the constant scrubbing that had turned from cleansing to punishment. he considered telling her to stop, but he didn’t. he considered telling her it wasn’t her fault, but he didn’t.

when she said she didn't want to go back to the mansion, he didn't argue. he nodded once, decision already made.

“ no, i wouldn't dream of doing that to you. ”

the phone in his jacket buzzed then. scott didn't look at it. he didn't need to answer this call. he let it keep ringing until it stopped.

he shifted though, just enough to lean on the counter with one shoulder, grounding himself in the cool laminate as he looked at her emotionally charged reflection rather than her face itself. jean asked for things directly when it mattered. he always appreciated that.

“ yes, ” he said simply at her invitation to stay. no qualifiers or caveats were necessary.

the room seemed to hold them there for a moment longer—the drip of the faucet, the hum in the walls, the smell of metal and antiseptic hanging heavily in the air. scott reached out then, not to touch her, but to turn off the water, to spare her delicate hands any further damage than they'd already sustained.

@pyrbird

[cykehead]

don't get blood on your shirt /. 🥺🥺🥺

@pyrbird

“ it’s a little too late for that, jean, ” he said, resignation seeping quietly into the words. one corner of his mouth curled up slightly. nearly a smile. nearly enough to overcome the annoyance he didn’t bother to name.

his eyes flicked down to the stain on his sleeve for a brief instant. it wasn’t just any shirt. wasn’t something he could replace at a whim, or buy without a thought for the consequences. it was one of jean’s christmas gifts to him: a little over a month old, and now ruined. washing would be a hassle. the thought lodged where small, inconvenient things often did when the night had already taken so much.

he rubbed at his arm without realizing he was doing it, the motion one of complete unawareness, as if the blood wasn’t someone else’s and he hadn’t just brushed past it. then he became aware of what he was doing and stopped, recalibrating his mind back to the present.

when he finally spoke again, his voice was practical and reasonable, the annoyance gone. scott let his hand fall to a hovering position just above jean’s elbow, close enough to offer but not claim.

“ sorry. never mind me. are you hurt, babe? ” he asked, a brief pause before he continued: “ let me check you. ”

[cykehead]

cyke had come to know the sound of jean's presence long before she spoke. not the sound of her footsteps, necessarily—though that was a part of it. more the way the room seemed to shift in dimensions to make space for her, the way the static he'd been unaware of seemed to ease in her vicinity. she did not necessarily have to enter his mind psychically to have this effect. he did not immediately look up. he simply let the moment fully develop before doing so.

the temperature in the room seemed to warm in her vicinity, less clinical, as though something living inserted itself between the angles of the space. he finished organizing a few things for the rest of the week: a list of groceries to buy for meal preparation, the meetings and training sessions he would have to give, the machines in need of repair, and finally turned to his wife, his face open, and sharpened by a smile.

“ i didn't think you'd be up this late, honey, ” he said, not a statement of accusation. simply a statement of fact, delivered as he would deliver anything to anyone he cared about: with obvious care. his eyes lingered a fraction of a moment longer than was necessary, searching for signs of strain, of echoes of pain, or something more. out of the two, he wasn't the mind reader. all he had was his lips and his eyes, or lack thereof.

“ i just about finished wrapping up what i needed to for the night. i was thinking about running diagnostics on cerebro again—everything should be fine by morning, but alaska is… new. the last headache i want to deal with is an unnecessary technical malfunction. ” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “ i can sit on it for a little while longer, though. how are you doing? did you want to talk, or just… sit? ”

he walked up to jean, hand reaching out for her palm to help guide her to the edge of their bed.

either answer would have been enough. he'd made space for both.

@pyrbird | unprompted.

[cykehead]

the room had descended into its late-hour silence, not exactly safe but suspended. the machinery hummed quietly, and so did the occupants who serviced it, their lights buzzing quietly enough to be grating, their air thickening into a scent of metals—the scent of function over comfort. scott remained where he was for a duration long enough to make the silence feel earned when hope arrived, a being who came without necessarily being seen.

scott observed her, noticed the direction of her focus, which never lingered anywhere specifically, like an outsider who had been snatched from their world and thrust into an uncomfortably unfamiliar place with no familiar faces or kin ties. it was peculiar, a familiar awkwardness in her, cool, patient, and calculating, like an old machine that had just been left alone, neglected, and unpowered.

or maybe scott was just seeing things. maybe scott was simply projecting.

he remained still.

that, too, was intentional.

time ticked by in minutes that felt like an eternity without a word exchanged. it was as if the building itself decided to contribute, providing to its own noise, and the long-standing tension test began to circle into the real thing. scott crossed his arms, dodging the stiffness that people associated with him, and balanced his weight evenly on the soles of his feet. if she was looking for signs of potential threats, she'd see nothing out of the ordinary from him. he was not going to change to reassure or provoke.

but when he spoke, it wasn't to break her rhythm.

“ hope, ” he said softly, loud enough for her to hear in the cold air. the lower half of his face hid behind the fur collar of his jacket, but his voice came through in the dense chill. “ i was thinking it was about time we had a talk. i know you must have questions. ” the assertion landed without expectation of response, though his voice held a gentleness, a resonance to her namesake.

the silence, however, was not empty anymore. it had been weighted with awkwardness now. he had no idea why he was so shy about reaching out. closing a gap of emotions and building a bridge with his children wasn't supposed to be this difficult. he knew he had to make himself be noticed, somehow, with his voice, for better or for worse. he learned a long time ago that some habits would only get easier to lose if they were challenged head-on.

yet, he remained where he was, visible and unremarkable in the way that mattered on any plateau—offering himself as something solid enough to lean against should she wish to do so

there would be no orders.

there would be no reassurances, unless she wanted them.

there would simply be.

just a constant. holding its own place.

@whtephnx | unprompted.

[cykehead]

people may think cyclops goes strictly by the rules.

character misconceptions. thank you! | forever accepting.

author note: i'm going to include screenshots to to help get a fuller scope of my answer.

-

people may think cyclops goes strictly by the rules, and in many ways, the "boy scout" label holds validity. but that perception is shaped more by his trauma and conditioning than by any inherent personality trait.

scott's rigid adherence to the rules was never about blind obedience—it was about survival. as a child, he learned that structure was the only thing that kept him from falling apart. between the orphange's cold indifference, mr. sinister's unethical child experiments, his foster father's abuse and xavier's psychological manipulations, he was conditioned to equate control with safety.

if he didn't act accordingly, he feared he'd either be murdered or abandoned. it left him vulnerable to exploitation. xavier didn't just encourage discipline—he made it the foundation of scott's identity. he reinforced that emotions were virtually liabilities, that scott can't afford to "act out" and it was the only path to acceptance. respectability was the ideal and self-control had to be maintained at all costs.

but it wasn't just about respectability—it was about being useful enough to keep around. scott didn't trust the world to love** him unconditionally, because it never had, and he was told by his abusers it never will. he learned early on that affection was transactional, that acceptance was fragile, and that if he didn't meet expectations, he'd be discarded.

so, it was difficult for scott to break from this. because scott was locked in darkness. he was afraid to use his powers, because he didn't trust himself. he carried self-hatred in his heart and felt deeply uncomfortable in his own body, desperately wanting normalcy.

when xavier found scott, he was already a broken child—thin, scrawny, sunken cheeks and eyes, signs of neglect and abuse. mr. sinister had experimented on him, manipulating his genetic potential, and his mutant foster father had done worse. scott was weaponized before he was even old enough to understand what he was meant to be used for. being human... he wasn't treated as one in his early childhood and teenhood.

and when he refused to be a tool, his foster father punished him for it. the abuse ranged from verbal to physical, to mental—his very sense of self eroded under the weight of it.

so when professor xavier finally stepped in, scott saw salvation. but salvation came at a price.

xavier gave him food, shelter, more importantly, a purpose—but with it came an expectation of perfectionism that scott could never quite reach. xavier didn't just expect discipline, he demanded obedience in the name of the dream. scott internalized failure meant he was useless to the mutant cause, a failure of a hero—and if he couldn't be used, he'd be discarded.

more under the cut.

and he endured this because he didn't believe he had a choice. he owed charles a great debt, in his mind. he had already been scarred by the abandonment of his biological family, by the discrimination he faced in the orphanage, by a lifetime of learning that people like him were unwanted, feared, or lynched. he couldn't seek help because he knew the world had no mercy for people like him. he had seen the ways mutants were treated, had heard the slurs, had seen the news reports where people like him were dragged in the streets and beaten just for existing. it happened to him—more times he can count.

he believed his birth was a curse. he believed it was his fault for being an orphan. he believed that no one would ever want to help 'a freak'. so when xavier used his obsessiveness with fixing his inadequacies to his advantage, gave scott a high ideal to strive for, scott clung to it with both hands—even at the cost of himself.

he hated what his foster father did to him, but in his heart, he believed that was the best he would ever have. that this was what he was meant for. that suffering was the price he had to pay for having a place in the world at all.

so, when charles subjected him to endless guilt trips for wanting to be normal—for wanting to branch out from the x-men and be a family man, for seeking a new definition of living, or even expressing doubts of xavier's methodologies—it tormented him further. when he raised protest against xavier's critiques on his leadership, it only cemented the idea that peace could never be attained if he continued going against xavier's desires.

that being said, yes, scott was a boy scout, but he was not blindly loyal, nor is he incapable of independent thought. his growth is defined by his eventual rejection of the authortiy figures who molded them.

scott has defied xavier's ideals, led a militant mutant resistance, and challenged every institiution that demanded obedience without question—every apparatus of destruction designed for mutant extinction.

it was scott who ultimately united mutantkind, provided sanctuary, saved an entire species from extinction. the boy who once lived by his mentor's rules became the man who rewrote them.

yes, his strict sense of duty remains, but it is no longer tied to external expectations—it is very much his own as much as his own flesh and bones are. he follows his heart and instincts, he surrenders them in service of mutantkind, and when that burden becomes too heavy, he hopes the support of his loved ones will keep him together.

the same discipline that once made him xavier's golden child is what later made him the leader that mutantdom can depend on.

cyclops was made into a soldier. while reluctant, it was he who made the choice to become a revolutionary.

[bionyxtrinity]

𝙰𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜: 𝙳𝚘𝚘𝚖𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢

[cykehead]

                  ❝ THE FIRST X-MAN. ❞

live visage 001.

psd credit: vendettapsds

[notmorbid]

daredevil: season 1 [1/2].

dialogue prompts from the first season of marvel's daredevil.

this would be easier if you'd tell me what you've done.

i'm asking forgiveness for what i'm about to do.

what exactly are you going to do?

it's half past 'get the hell up'.

we're supposed to be enemies.

so what, you're just a couple of good samaritans?

you've never done this before?

maybe we can help each other.

it's hard to meet people in the city.

i don't know what happened. it wasn't me.

do you have somewhere you can stay tonight?

do you know who's trying to kill you?

i cannot have anybody else die because of me.

i'll work for free.

not a word to anybody. not even your mom.

don't get blood on your shirt.

i should have you in my corner.

you're supposed to be doing your homework.

sometimes, even when you get knocked down, you can still win.

it ain't how you hit the mat, it's how you get up.

i dug myself in too deep and i can't climb out.

your shit's not gonna unpack itself.

big fan of the not thinking.

i'm the lucky girl who pulled you out of the garbage.

your outfit kind of sucks, by the way.

the less you know about me, the better.

this is my night off. i'm really not looking for some guy to die on my couch.

convince me it's worth it.

you make life difficult for bad men?

have you seen or heard anything unusual?

you could do so much better, love.

i was starting to worry you might be in love with me.

you gaze at me lovingly when you think i'm not looking.

i can't get the blood out of the carpet.

i don't see the city anymore. all i see are its dark corners.

this is way past what i signed up for.

i know you're afraid, but you can't give in to the fear.

i know you're scared, but i'm here to help you.

i make a heck of a latte, if you're interested.

there are no rules. not anymore.

some fights will just get you bloody.

do you do walk-ins?

am i right in assuming this isn't your first rodeo?

the truth doesn't sell papers. not anymore.

are you worried about me?

you don't understand how lucky you are.

that's either very romantic or very sad.

i don't think they use fax machines anymore.

don't turn around. that's how you get caught.

you didn't grow up here, did you?

time and distance afford a certain clarity.

it hurts, doesn't it? being in pain? being afraid?

don't underestimate what people in power will do to stay there.

i never thought i'd put anyone else at risk.

tell me it was worth it.

feel my heart. what is it telling you?

you cook for every girl you bring home?

you were really something, back in the day.

i don't like to be in public.

i don't like to be questioned, but you can ask me anything.

by my side is the safest place that you could ever be.

i wish i knew you back then.

i have dug myself another hole, haven't i?

i don't speak asshole.

it's not as easy as it looks in the movies, you know.

the world's a shitty place. you can quote me.

i still got a few good stories in me.

this is not how ___ die. this is not how it happens.

you've played the hero enough for one day.

you've been asking about me. i thought it was time we spoke.

life is not a fairy tale. not everyone deserves a happy ending.

you're a child playing at being a hero.

general rule: guys who wear masks have something to hide, and it usually ain't good.

if we don't get a chance to talk again, you take care of yourself.

[cykehead]

@belayadyavol said: " i'm not quite dead yet. ""

today’s training wouldn’t be easy. scott didn’t need to say it aloud—his posture said enough. shoulders squared, stance rooted, the air around him taut with the kind of pressure that meant business. he always did. no mutant, seasoned or otherwise would be allowed to not have their backs straightened when they're in one of cyclops sessions.

magik didn't flinch.

badass chick with a sword?—she never did.

instead, cyclopes watched where she stood, with her blade half-drawn, her stance powerfully braced to thwart whatever else that may come at her side. and of course, there was that slick grin that could match the foreboding mischieviousness of the devil. it was full of insolence, as if she was daring him to pull rank.

it's almost funny—the way she uses 'not quite dead' as a metric as a metric. except, as far as metrics go, it's a useless one. almost funny.

❝ negative, magik. twenty points deducted. that’s an imprecise assessment. ❞

his hand flicked once, adjusting the side dial on his visor. it clicked beneath his glove, humming faintly with recalibrated power. the settings switch made the red light flicker behind the lens. the movement was automatic—militarily ritualistic. as much a warning as it was a necessity.

cyclops exhaled through his nose. it was more so a controlled release than a sigh. fine then.

❝ you’re either dead or you’re not. If you were ‘almost’ dead, you wouldn’t be talking. ❞

illyana's mock smile is cheshire-wide, sharp at the edges. like a curious baby deciding whether or not to toss its baby rattle at the back of their parent's head just to see if it'll land. she enjoys this more than she needs to. he suspects she's testing him—like a cat watching a canary, not to eat it, just interested to see how it moves.

and still, he respected it.

because he knew what ran in her veins wasn't just recklessness. she possessed the kind of survivor defiance that refused to die, even when death had her name written down more than once.

good blood.

dangerous blood.

❝ humans survived because we could outlast anything—run prey to the point of exhaustion, watch them collapse, finish the job. its slow. relentless. that's how we're built. ❞

though his tone doesn't rise or shift, his words are pointed anyway. the words cut clean, like a blade through sinew.

❝ we're the next stop. our evolution is a natural advantage. ❞

from hunter-gatherers wielding stone and wood and strategizing around capturing exceptionally fast game to beings who could exceed the sound barrier. and that's putting it lightly. the words weren't meant to be boastful. they're simply just true. mutantkind wasn't a threat (unless they have to be). they were an inevitability.

❝ you're not dead. so keep moving. if you can walk, you can fight. if you can fight, you can win. ❞

then, an afterthought. the faintest crack of a smile, a flicker of dry amusement coming through. ❝ and don't make me chase you, magik. i have the endurance for it. ❞