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#Don't Say the M Word|Xmen au
brooklynislandgirl · 4 months
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I see your face every time I dream || Accepting
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Marvel (you must do some that don't involve Xmen, I see you) FOR ALL THE MEME QUESTIONS
JUST LET ME TALK ABOUT X-MEN FOR THREE HOURS WOMAN
For this list
name ur politically correct ship that no one ever questions
I SHIP NICK SPENCER WITH THE DEEPEST PITS OF HELL RESERVED FOR TRAITOROUS BIGOTED SCUM.  But I mean other than that…Natasha/Clint, Vision/Wanda, Rogue/Remy, and my much-maligned-by-movies-and-ignored-by-the-internet OTP Kitty/Colossus.  There is no order of preference here.  Also I recently got sold REALLY HARD on Steve/Bucky (recently, ha, like three years ago Jesus Moran get your shit together) so like, also Steve/Bucky.  And any marriage that makes Storm happy and a queen of a country, so by default Ororo/T’Challa.
now name ur trash ship
I do ship Natasha/Bucky, but I think the circumstances confirm me for a bad person, because I only ship them in the context of ‘I don’t remember you and you barely remember me but you can’t bring yourself to kill me so you shot me and saved my life and I woke up in your safehouse while you wiped my wounds with a gun in your other hand and I’m not sure which one of us you’re going to shoot first.’  So.  Like.  In the single most unhealthy available context.  In a whole universe of unhealthy contexts.
Also I feel like Bobby had a crush on Hank when they were both kids and sometimes still jerks off to his best friend but I DIGRESS.
and ur really trashy im-going-to-hell ship
Elektra the unhinged murderer/Matthew Murdock the desperately earnest crusader.  Fuck brutally against a wall and piece each other back together with trembling hands that smear your skin with blood.  Cling to each other in your dying moments and stand over each other’s graves feeling guilt for not saving each other and guilt for not killing each other.  Throw words like knives and hate yourselves for every hit even as you gloat.
Good.
who is your cinnamon roll fave who everyone loves
KITTY GODDAMN PRYDE, @EVERY MOVIE PERSON EVER COME HERE AND FIGHT ME.  Also Warren and Storm, I would die for Storm.
Also Steve Rogers.  I have this reoccurring daydream where Steve punches Nick Spencer in the face.
who is your sinnamon roll fave who everyone loves to hate/hates to love
I genuinely would not even know if I had one of these, Marvel has been in my blood and bones since I was too young to be on a computer unsupervised.  I like the FF more than most people seem to?  I really like Professor Xavier and I get really defensive when people talk shit about him?
who is your trash fave who is so problematic they probably have hate tumblrs dedicated to them
I…do not know.  I think Loki makes a pretty compelling villain, but I think I’m in the majority there.  I low-key want to fight whenever someone suggests that Warren joined Apocalypse of his own free will, but I AM STANDING BY COMIC CANON COME AT ME.  So yeah, don’t think I have one of these.
what is ur  guiltiest guilty fave fandom
Okay, listen, I will be an eighty year old woman who is made entirely of salty, salty attitude and brittle bones and I will STILL be reading my campy ridiculous 60′s comics with terrible dialogue and circus-performer villains.  I know it’s not a fandom, but still.
OH I really love X-Men: Evolution and I have a whole lecture about why it’s the best adaptation of the X-Men that I’m aware of to date, but I never tell anyone that I like it for some reason, does that count?
what is the fic you want to write/read but can’t because it is too full of Sin
…so.  I actually started this one (this one) and it was Good but then I realized it would be months and months of work and I got pre-emptively tired, but basically, first words soulmate AU where Natasha and her Black Widow trainee peers all got programmed to brutally murder anyone who said their words. So then Clint shows up and of course says her words and she tries to kill him before he pins her to the wall with an arrow, and they have a really terrible brutal few months where she begs him to just kill her a lot.  And Clint keeps a taser on his person for survival reasons.  And at least once Natasha tries to stab him to death in his sleep just to end the struggle.  And Clint has a terrible awful no-good very bad conversation with Coulson about the appropriate time to cut his losses.
what is the most sinful fic you have ever read/written
G O D D A M N
what is the worst thing you want to become canon (character death, trash-ship etc)
…listen…it’s Marvel…it’s all already canon babydoll…all of it…everyone is dead…everyone has had bad relationships…everyone has been resurrected…there’s no answer here…
what is your most sinful headcanon
Do not look me in the eye and tell me that Remy LaBeau has not figured out a way to have sex with someone without touching her skin.  Whether he’s put it into action or not, that’s another story, but he has DEFINITELY figured it out.
what is your cutest headcanon
Clint watches a lot of Disney movies (he looked it up, it’s called reparenting yourself) and so consequently during that couple month period where he and Natasha are basically locked in a warehouse waiting for her to fight off the worst of the brainwashing, Natasha watches a lot of Disney movies.  Now they’re Avengers and they watch Disney movies after missions and shit. Steve gets invited to join them because Natasha decides that They Will Be Friends (Natasha’s grasp on how to make real non-mark friends is heavily influenced by the fact that her first real friend shot her, handcuffed her, and locked himself in a warehouse with her for a couple months, and also was a circus performer with a dubious handle on the friendship thing himself).
what is your heart-breakingist head canon
…I mean…canon…
I have others that are non-canon or fit within canon but like that shit’s a longer post that would need to be broken down fandom by fandom
what is ur crackiest crack ship
HA, Storm/Arkon, because the idea of Storm as the queen of a campy-ass warrior world makes me laugh
what is ur marginally less cracky crack ship
Fury/literally anyone, because he would be SO BITTER about growing feelings
what is ur favourite ridiculous au
It’s not actually that ridiculous, it’s kind of terrifying, but AU where Loki brainwashes Natasha instead of Clint in Avengers.
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brooklynislandgirl · 2 months
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@bothsidesofaquestion {{from your lovely open starter}} Beth pointedly does not glance at the shadows and the dark even if she does sidle closer to Kurt, until there is only a hand span between his midnight skin and her sand-coloured own. The little witch has always known about the things in the dark, and very sincerely has feared them. It's why, decades past the age where such things should have become obsolete, she never goes anywhere without her nightlight. "Me too," she murmurs. "Not just dem, d'ough. All kinds of...stuff. Spirits of trees an' rocks. Animals. People." Whether she means the soul or she means ghosts is entirely up to him to decide, however, there's something in the way she says it makes it distinct from the shadow...things.
"Are you...are you scared of dem? I am."
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brooklynislandgirl · 2 months
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💚 + Nightcrawler ( and we should do more about it! )
Imagine You and Me || Accepting
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Currently, Beth is still getting to know Kurt, and trying to navigate the space they share. She doesn't know how to make herself useful to him, and with all of his friends and loved ones amongst the others, she's inclined to retreat into herself. It isn't anything he's done. It isn't anything he's said. She just doesn't know him that well. On the other hand I do think there's so much potential here because I know some of Kurt's fears and worries and hopes. And once they do find their way, he'll see himself better through her eyes, and that vision will be without bias. He can thrive under her care and nurturing, and I think he in turn can be very gentle and caring where the world maybe isn't. I absolutely can imagine a future where Kurt draws her out of her shell and embraces all the things she hates about herself or has been taught are awful and unwanted. I think she can do the same for him, and maybe they can both help each other heal from past trauma. I look forward to writing more and getting this here party started <3
{{currently 7/10 only because as I said, we haven't really had the chance to put them in a room together and see how they grow}}
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brooklynislandgirl · 4 months
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@lediableblanc-amoureuxdechats {{because tumblr}}
Heavily her brows furrow as she offers him a sidelong glance, both morbidly curious about what he means when he says that side of him, and if maybe that's what she sees in his aura. But then she's overcome by a wash of far more human and sensible a thing; guilt. He stops his actions based on what she has said. That much is obvious, even to her.
"I nevah meant to ruin your plans," she says softly as if tone and sincerity could ameliorate whatever damage or pains ~real or imaginary~ she had caused. Because it was absolutely her way to feel as though she is doing something wrong. That in turn sows the seeds of fear that he will eventually, and sooner rather than later, find it much easier to go about his business without her. Another revolution of thought and she arrives at another fact she doesn't know how to sort. And that's largely that she has come to allow herself to be so immensely dependant on Remy and that she is no better off now than when she'd first arrived in the city. Not in terms of survival. The hodgepodge of abilities she's had the misfortune to develop allow her to adapt physically into whatever environment she's thrust into, albeit briefly. There seems to be an arbitrary deadline of sunset to sunrise or vis versa. No, it's far worse than she'd allowed herself to realise. The weakness is emotional. "Don'...don' be mad," she whispers and maybe her hand clutches his side a little harder than she intended. There's a new blend of fear there that had nothing to do with restless spirits. "An...don' t'row me away, try an' mahalo. If wan f' stay, I'll make dem be quiet. Dey no gonna boddah you." She might be including herself in that last little sound.
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brooklynislandgirl · 11 days
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What are some subtle gestures that get your muse in the mood?
Body of Evidence || Accepting
The day had been one of the most peaceful ones she could remember in recent memory. They'd gone into the City in the morning, visited her hanai-sister's coffee shop and indulged in a slow breakfast. Jay was happy to meet one of Beth's new friends, and they had a brief conversation filtering between English and German. Kurt was greeted by the sleek muzzle of Jenna, Jay's Belgian Malinois before the dog settled down under their table and daintily mouthed her bunny toy. Later they prowled the warren of lesser known museums, libraries, and galleries; each one brought on the well rationed or at times passionate conversations. He talked about the places he'd been and from where certain pieces were created or written. He talked the philosophies of man and mutant and the way of art trends. Beth sometimes had to stop him and ask him to repeat himself, which always seemed to draw a soft apology or guilty gaze, but that was the downside of her particular mutation, one of the few things she couldn't heal or fix. Kurt never seemed to take issue with these little interruptions and sometimes slowed down the speed with which he spoke, or adjusted his gentle timbre. He asked her questions in return, and seemed truly interested in what she had to say. That was never something she experienced often. They strolled on, and ever the gentleman, Kurt occasionally shielded her from traffic, or guided her around a calamity that would have left her with sodden hems and dirty-rainwater toes and sandals. They lost themselves in the woods of Central Park, sometimes feeding the wild-life, sometimes simply enjoying their own company, sometimes making up stories of other people who passed by. They ignored the looks they sometimes received. People like that exist everywhere but none were so bold as to start anything about it. Eventually they stopped for a quiet candlelight dinner, wine and more conversation before taking the train back to Westchester and the Mansion.
What might have seemed silliest of all is that Kurt insisted on walking her to her door, as if it were a regular apartment building. Beth's hands alight to his shoulder, and her lashes veil her green gaze in a shyness that is tender. Almost innocent. Then she uses that perch for leverage as she rises up on her tip toes and kisses him on his cheek. "Mahalo for today," she murmurs, smiling up at him when she settles back down on her feet. "It was, like you, beautiful."
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brooklynislandgirl · 4 months
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What’s something that makes them laugh every single time? Be specific!
Me In The Mirror || Accepting She sits on the sofa by herself, feet tucked up on the cushions under the blanket she has to keep herself warm. She has a bowl of popcorn nearly the same size as her lap held in her arms and braced by her legs. She's watching the television even if the room is eerily quiet. This is because, aside from her giggles, there really isn't anything more in terms of sound. The television itself is muted and the dynamic lighting from the screen flickers across her features, gasping ghostly colours washed out and worn by time and distance. But when the laughter comes to an end, there's a transformation. Something people do not get to see, something almost kapu, in her words. She sets the bowl down and comes creeping out from beneath her blanket. Long skirt brushes the top of her feet as she takes a couple steps toward the television, sets one leg forward, and raises it by the toes to a particular angle. As she begins to dance with what she is watching, she breaks the stillness with her voice. So very soft it's easy to pretend she can't be heard, and while her voice isn't pristine ~she's by no means Dazzler or Siryn~ there might be something pleasant and warm to be found in it. Gone is the trepidation of speaking English and something in her eyes look close to nostalgic tears. "Mahalo nu 'ia ke Ali'i wahine- 'O Lili'ulani 'O ka Wohi kū- Ka pipi'o mai o ke ānuenue, Nā waiho‘olu‘u a hālike ʻole- E nānā nā maka i ke ao malama- Mai Hawai'i ākea i Kaua'i."
As she sings she moves as the figures on the screen do, all fluid grace and beauty. Arms raised up on praise, or outward in what might seem like invitation. Her foot placement precise and purposeful. Even the claps have a beat that have meaning. "ʻO Kalākaua he inoa- ʻO Ka pua maeʻole i ka lā- Ka pua maila i ka mauna- I ke kuahiwi ʻo Mauna Kea- Ke ‘ā maila i Kīlauea- Mālamalama i Wahinekapu- A ka luna o Uwēkahuna- I ka pali kapu o Kaʻauea- Ea mai ke aliʻi kia manu- Ua wehi i ka hulu o ka mamo- Ka pua nani aʻo Hawaiʻi- ʻO Kalākaua he inoa..." All too soon, she finishes the song and then returns to the couch. Less than a couple minutes later, her face contorts from grief to laughter once more, and this time it's almost silent. And that...that's when she notices him. She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and doesn't quite raise her gaze to his eyes. "Wan' come watch? Is...Lilo an' Stitch, an' it really jus' only started so I can rewind it f' you? Put da volume up for you an' everyt'ing."
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brooklynislandgirl · 2 years
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👌🛌 [ homeless ]
Ain’t Exactly like Barry White || Not Currently Accepting
She knows better than to stop on a crowded street in the middle of the day, especially when they have ill-gotten gains in their backpacks, and her little dog on a rope leash. But that might be the one blessing of not being part of society, of becoming personless when you don’t have a home. People’s eyes tend to slide right off you if you don’t ask for spare change, or to ‘borrow’ a cigarette you have no intention or ability to repay, or any of a dozen other seeds of guilt to sow up in their consciences. So as they pass the big picture window with all the different television screens on display and the outside speaker plays the music from the moving pictures, she can’t help but stop. Press the hand he’s not holding to the glass, to feel the vibrations. The boy on the screen with the short wet blonde hair coloured pink looks nothing like Billy, and she’s never heard him sing. But if he did? She bets they would sound the same, maybe. She likes the boy who strokes the guitar. Her Boy gives her as much time as his patience allows before he’s tugging on her wrist and ducking his head. There’s a few watchdogs that are spread through the crowd. They might have spotted Boy and her yet, but it’s only a matter of time. Watchdogs who ask too many questions that can’t be answered, watchdogs who could to a man work for Them. And find the wrong one, then back they go to the Place. So she doesn’t fight it. She scoops up the little grey pup and carries her like a baby as she tries to keep up with Her Boy’s longer legged stride. They double and triple back a time or two and it’s hours before they reach their space under the bridge. They store what they can in the ever increasing makeshift shelter. Her Boy keeps out the damp and she gathers things that will burn for their little fire. She feeds the pup food from a pouch, tender for her still growing teeth, and the pup is grateful, gobbling it up as quick as she can. Her Boy splits the still warm fried fish into shares, and she makes sure he gets the larger portion by slipping a couple pieces on his side of the container, or shoving over the larger chips, but only when he isn’t looking. He worries about her but he needs more than she does. Much later, when they try to sleep she drowns out the traffic and other night sounds in the city by recalling the song. It pairs with the rain falling beyond the bridge’s two open sides. She snuggles closer to Her Boy and feels his arms curl around her. She settles her backside into the basket of his hips and she feels him stir against her. It isn’t the first time that that has happened. She knows what is supposed to come of it, how at the Place they would be put in a room with the strange windows. How They had hoped to watch nature take its course, but Her Boy never would. But as the rain and the song in her head plays on, she wonders if it would be so bad. Her Boy is beautiful. He is finely made. As she tries to make herself sleep, she mouths the words to the song. I give this part of me for you... Sand rains down and here I sit... Holding rare flowers...   
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brooklynislandgirl · 2 years
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When did they go on their first date? {Beth}
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She hoists the shot of tequila but it doesn't quite meet her mouth just like her eyes don't try to meet his face. The Japanese Incident doesn't really count. That had been a diplomatic affair that was ruined because of an overprotective brother and an under-experienced attache's son. Her society debut didn't count because her brother had been her escort. Same with what masqueraded for prom. And for a hundred other social events throughout her not very long life. This? Not a date, either. It's some cajun guy who's trying to be nice to someone who amounts to little more than a lost soul new to New Orleans. One who couldn't even find the hostel she's staying in with a map and both hands. A mousey thing that without access to her bank account or the Admiral's reputation doesn't really warrant being looked at twice. Besides, dates are for people to pair up with someone they have a romantic interest in, to see if there's any compatibility before they inevitably wind up naked together. Something she's never been interested in, something she wouldn't do just to stave off that feeling in her belly that tells her maybe this is how it's meant to be. Adrift and on her own. Making conversation with a stranger because they sound cool and were being kind. She doesn't say anything out loud, it's too pathetic sounding, too melodramatic. She knocks the shot back and lets the bitterness sting the back corners of her mouth before sliding down her throat. Hitting her stomach and making it that much more queasy. "Looks like your winning, because I haven't. Not yet, anyway." she murmurs and when she does bother to look up, her eyes are glassy and her tawny skin is florid. "Okay, Remy... uhm...how about... First time you had to climb out a window so you wouldn't get caught in someone's room with them."
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