#muse: cyclops

[adrowningpoet]

Leadership carries weight.

"But it hurts, everything hurts." "I know it does." And I won’t lessen the intensity of his pain or the way he’s carried it for so long. I can sense it in his voice. I felt the same knot in my throat when I was once his age, terrified of what I could do, convinced I was broken beyond repair. He doesn’t need pretty lies to console him. He needs truth. “I know exactly how it feels.” The words sitting heavy between us.  "But you don’t have to carry it alone anymore." "You say that now, but you’re like…" "No," my voice sharpens, but it doesn’t rise. "I’m not like them. I’ve never been. I’m just like you." A step forward, steadily deliberate on my part. "Scott, please don’t…" "Stand down." The command leaves no room for argument. Then it hits. Pain detonates through my body, invasive, sharp, like a thousand needles threading through muscle and bone. My knees give before I can stop them, the ground rushing up to meet me as I grit my teeth.

"Don’t engage," I force out, each word dragged through fire, pain searing through me. He’s paralyzed me temporarily. Through the ruby shades, I lock onto him, seeing the fear in his eyes. "You didn’t have to be here," He spits out defensively, staring at  the X-Men standing behind me. "I did…" I draw in a ragged breath, forcing myself upright despite the tremor in my limbs. “I came for you.” Behind me, the team holds formation, silently ready to counterattack, but they trust me to handle this.  "We came here for you, Ben," Storm’s voice resonated through the barriers of Ben’s heart, alleviating his sense of isolation. It reaches him in a way force never could. "Let it go," she urges gently. "No one else should suffer." The pressure breaks. Air rushes back into my lungs as the invisible grip loosens. I stagger, but I don’t fall. I struggle to contain the emotions he evokes, the agony hidden beneath the facade of my bravery, but Ben is aware of it. "I didn’t intend to cause you harm, Mister Summers." His empathetic tone resonates deeply with me as I shake my head, steadying myself as Storm steps beside me, her presence grounding. "I know, Ben." My voice is quieter now, taking a step forward. He flinches. So I stop. Hands open to signal that I pose no threat to his safety. "No one here is going to hurt you." His voice cracks. "I’m scared." And there it is. Not anger. Not violence, just fear.  His words leave me vulnerable, and hearing his concerns emboldens me to approach him again, albeit slowly. "I was scared too," I admit. "Still am, sometimes." An honest breath leaves me as I continue to reason. "But you don’t have to face it by yourself. Not anymore." He searches for my face, looking for deception, but he won’t find it. "If it gets hard," I continue, gentler now, "I’ll be there.. every step. That’s what we do. We carry it together." Silence follows for a moment, allowing my words to ring true. When they do, he steps forward and it’s enough to meet him in between. When I place my hand on his shoulder, he doesn’t recoil. The tension drains from him like a storm finally breaking. He leans fully into me like he’s been holding himself together for too long and finally he doesn’t have to. I embrace his retreat, holding steady, offering comfort to his heavy heart. Leaders don’t just stand in front of their team. Sometimes, they’re the ones who carry the weight so someone else doesn’t have to.  And I, Scott Summers, will gladly carry the weight of all my students and fellow mutantkind. 

[multimatium]

🍁 + cyclops, have you even wondered about ways your life could have turned out differently?

Of course he's wondered.

What if he never hit his head as a child.

What if Magneto was the one who picked him.

What if he never accepted Xavier's offer.

What if he never fell in love with Jean.

What if he wasn't a Mutant.

All questions he's thought about in tough times, but he wasn't going to let what ifs and maybes define him. Life is made up of so many moments that any one choice different would mean he didn't have the life he had now.

One he wouldn't trade for the world.

[adrowningpoet]

[adrowningpoet]

A day off.

I tried to take the kids out for a show, thinking it would be simple, an easy outing to mark my day off. But the moment I stepped out, I realized I had made a critical mistake. Apparently, my attire fell far below their expectations, and they wasted no time letting me know. The boys were ruthless, their commentary sharp and unfiltered. The girls, at least, attempted a softer approach, dressing their critiques with soft tones and gentle laughter. Some of it stuck. One comment in particular lingered. “Old man Scott.” Old man? Really? Pfft. I brushed it off at first, trying to defend myself. I told them I had higher priorities— that appearances were trivial compared to the responsibilities I carried. There were more important matters demanding my focus than coordinating outfits or chasing the latest trends. But none of that mattered. They were deaf to my pleas, choosing to ignore me. To them, I wasn’t ready. Not like this. Not to step out into the world and represent them with embarrassment. Eventually, worn down by their persistence, I relented. A few girls eagerly stepped in, transforming the ordeal into something almost ceremonial. They adjusted, styled, and refined me. Each detail was handled with care and determination. And when they were done, they stepped back and the room erupted. Cheers replaced criticism. Laughter softened into approval. The tension that once filled the space dissolved into something lighter… peaceful… prideful. For the first time that evening, there were no arguments. No jabs. No resistance. Just a group of kids, standing proudly beside me, ready to present the world with a newer version of Scott Summers.  

[adrowningpoet]

Never ending fight.

“Take a break, Summers. You earned it.” Funny thing about that, breaks don’t come easy when you’ve been at war your whole life. I find it challenging to shut my mind and alleviate the burden I’ve carried since I was a boy. The truth is… the fight never really leaves you. It settles into you, sharpens your instincts and I can’t help but dream of a fight, not that I’m seeking one, but it always knows where to find me. So I stay ready. Always ready. Even when the world is quiet, my mind isn’t. It’s running plays, calculating angles, preparing for impact. I’ll drift mid-conversation, not because I don’t care, but because somewhere in the back of my head, I’m already bracing for what comes next. That’s what they don’t see. The part that doesn’t shut off. And yeah… sometimes it gets to me because when you’ve spent your entire life fighting, you start to wonder if that’s all you were ever meant to be. The soldier. The leader. The one who steps forward, a weapon. I know I’m not. I have to know better than that. I’m more than the visor. More than the orders. More than the weight of leadership. But knowing it in your head doesn’t make it easier to feel. So tell me— how does someone like me, someone built on responsibility, on leadership, take a break? How do you stand down when standing ready is the only thing that’s ever kept people alive? I guess that’s the part no one trains you for. And maybe… that’s the fight that never really ends.

[adrowningpoet]

Until You.

Every love story begins the same way: a chance meeting between a boy and a girl. Friendship blooms through conversations and quiet moments. Affection becomes devotion and they dream of a future, endure hardships together. Somewhere along the way,  they realize they were always meant to stand beside one another. I used to envy stories like that because our world was never built to allow such simplicity. Mutantdom teaches you early that survival comes before happiness. Society brands you a monster long before it bothers to learn your name. Every battle strips away another illusion until duty becomes second nature. You stop fighting because you believe you’ll win. You fight because someone has to. You become a shield for those too frightened to raise their own voices. You fight for tomorrow, even when you no longer expect to see it yourself. And it’s a lonely way to live. Until you. You were the one place the war could never reach. In the middle of endless conflict, you gave me something no battlefield ever could— peace. We fought through hell together, buried friends together, carried burdens few could ever understand, yet somehow we always found our way back to one another. I’ve worn more scars than I can remember. But none of them compare to the wounds left by losing you. I’ve never lost you only once. I’ve watched you die beneath different skies. I’ve held your hand as entire worlds unraveled around us. I’ve lived through timelines where fate still found a new way to steal you from me. Time changes nothing and you’re an open wound that continues to bleed each time we’re forced apart. That is the curse of loving someone across lifetimes. This grief, it never fades. It only learns how to walk beside you. It becomes another scar beneath the uniform, another weight you carry. Still… I’ve never truly lost you, Jean. I find you in the silence after the fighting ends. I hear your laughter carried on the evening wind. I look toward the stars and remember every impossible moment we stole from a world determined to keep us apart. Even now, I can still feel the fire in your eyes— the fire that reminded me I was more than a weapon. You have always been more than the woman I loved. You are the reason I never became the monster the world expected me to be. Every choice I’ve made, every battle I’ve survived, every impossible tomorrow I’ve refused to surrender to… they all began with you. If fate demanded I march through every war, every broken timeline, every impossible future just to stand beside you one more time... I would do it without hesitation because amid the smoke and blood of every fight, you are by my side empowering strength.

[adrowningpoet]

STILL STANDING.

THEY TRIED TO SILENCE ME, BUT THEY FAILED. EVERY ACT OF HATRED, EVERY ATTEMPT TO DIMINISH ME, ONLY SHARPENED MY PURPOSE. THEY EXPECTED RESENTMENT TO CONSUME ME. THEY EXPECTED ANGER TO BLIND ME. INSTEAD, I CARRIED SOMETHING FAR STRONGER THAN HATE— A FIRE TEMPERED BY HARDSHIP AND FORGED THROUGH SURVIVAL. EACH TIME THEY TRIED TO KNOCK ME DOWN, I ROSE AGAIN. NOT BECAUSE I WAS UNTOUCHED BY THEIR CRUELTY, BUT BECAUSE I REFUSED TO LET IT DEFINE ME. THEIR ATTACKS BECAME PROOF OF MY ENDURANCE. THEIR FAILURES BECAME MY VICTORIES. THEY TRIED TO BREAK ME, BUT I AM NOT SO EASILY DEFEATED. IT TAKES MORE THAN PAIN TO SHATTER MY SPIRIT. MORE THAN VIOLENCE TO DESTROY MY VOICE. THEY CAN BREAK MY BONES. THEY CAN CUT MY FLESH. THEY CAN LEAVE SCARS THAT NEVER FADE, BUT THEY CANNOT BREAK ME. I HAVE ENDURED WHAT WAS MEANT TO DESTROY ME. I HAVE WALKED THROUGH HARDSHIPS UNIMAGINABLE AND EMERGED STRONGER. I HAVE FACED OPPRESSION AND REFUSED TO KNEEL. I AM STILL STANDING. STILL FIGHTING. AND AS LONG AS I CAN STAND, THEIR VICTORY WILL REMAIN OUT OF REACH.

[adrowningpoet]