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tomtenadia · 3 years

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Be my Cytosine

Rowaelin month day 12 - delayed love confession

Ok, today’s title is a weird one. If you have a knowledge of basic biology you will know that DNA has four nucleobases called Adenine (A), Guanine (G), Cytosine (C) and Thymine (T). You should also know that C always pairs with G and A pairs with T but in RNA A cheats on T with Uracil. This should help to understand the confession at the end. In the fic Rowan is a geneticist... ( a field your truly finds extremely fascinating).

Apologies for the biology lesson. I felt I had to give an explanation for the weirdness of the title which is, by the way, also a play on the phrase Be my valentine...

Anyway... enjoy it!

Aelin was at the pub waiting for Rowan. He had texted her to meet him at their pub. She had a tiring day at work and was more than happy to finish off the day at the pub with her best friend.

Aelin was a high school teacher and Rowan was a scientist. He worked in a lab as a geneticist.

They had friends in common, and they met through them but their beginnings had been turbulent. The man had confessed he hated her guts and she had admitted she was not his fan either. The animosity had lasted for about a year. Then something shifted and slowly their relationship settled and they became friends. Until the she broke up with Chaol, he kicked her out of the flat and Rowan had been the first one to offer her his spare bedroom. So they became flatmates and the friendship blossomed even further to the point she could now call him her best friend.

What she had never had the guts to tell him was that she had been in love with him for a while now. But she had kept it to herself. They lived together and it might complicate everything between them. So she had pined in silence. Not even her friends knew about her secret.

Rowan was looking forward to meet Aelin at the pub. He had big news and she was the first person he wanted to share it with.

The job offer had been the culmination of years spent on books, his PhD years spent in labs day in and day out and then his currently living in a lab. but all of the sacrifices had finally paid off. He had been offered the position as a lead scientist in Doranelle as a part of the research team at the country’s most prestigious hospital. It was the opportunity of a lifetime.

He had spent the day in a daze.

Now he was driving and he hoped she would be happy for him.

Once at the pub he parked and finally walked in. He scanned the venue and finally spotted her blonde hair. She was sitting at a table with two pints in front of her.

“I got your favourite as soon as you told me you were five minutes out. Still nice and cold.

They clinked their glasses and Aelin took a huge gulp of her beer.

“Long day at work?�� He mused at the avidity with which she drank the first gulp.

“Teenagers and their drama…” she explained “and on top of that, parents who think they can tell you how to do the job that you have been doing for the past ten years.”

“Just tell them to fuck off.”

“Says the man who works all day with petri dishes and DNA. They at least don’t talk back to you.”

Rowan chuckled “DNA mutating might be its way to tell me to fuck off.”

Aelin snorted so hard at the joke, while she was taking a sip that she had inhaled a bit of the beer and was now coughing after the drink went down the wrong pipe.

Rowan patted her back and she coughed a bit more.

“Are you okay?”

Aelin nodded “sorry I just imagined a DNA strand unfolding and in cartoon style morph back into a middle finger in the microscope.”

This time was the turn of Rowan to laugh. She loved that dynamic of theirs. She had even brushed up on some of her high school biology to make jokes. Once for Samhain she had dressed up as a Punnett square. Rowan had laughed for then minutes, then went and corrected it, saying that the combinations were incorrect.

Rowan cleared his voice and the atmosphere shifted all of a sudden “I got a big news today.”

Aelin grinned “Spill you heterozygote beans, Whitethorn.”

“I got a job offer.” He admitted, taking a sip of his beer “An hospital in Doranelle has offered me a lead scientist position for their project on genetic mutations. They read all my papers on a specific disease and its onset. Now they want me to work in one of their state of the art labs.”

Aelin gasped. That was an incredible opportunity. She knew how hard he had worked to get where he was and the job offer was the reward for all the time he had sacrificed and personal life as well. He and Lyria had dated for a couple of years until she left him because he was more dedicated to her job than her.

And if a part of Aelin was elated for him, the other, the selfish one, was hurting. He would leave. He would have a brand new successful life in Doranelle. Away from her. It hurt.

“Ro, that is absolutely amazing,” she hugged him hard and tried to hide the ache in her heart.

“I will need to leave in two weeks. I can move the lease of the flat to your name, I— ”

Aelin shushed him “let’s just celebrate tonight.” He nodded and toasted to a new adventure.

Two weeks later

Aelin had begged Rowan to let her drive him to the airport. He had tried to convince her that he was happy to take a taxi, but Aelin had been stubborn and now she was helping him unload his luggage from the trunk of her car.

Her heart was racing. The previous night she had cried herself to sleep. The idea of him leaving her for good was killing her.

She accompanied him to check-in and forced herself to calm the tears that were now threatening to spill.

And when he started walking to the security area, the place where she knew she’d have to eventually say good bye to him, she froze.

Rowan noticed she had stopped “What’s wrong, fireheart?”

Aelin looked up at him, tears finally broke free “I love you.” She sobbed. “Rowan Whitethorn, I love you. You are the C to my G.” She let out a wet chuckle “not A since it cheats on T with U.”

Rowan laughed.

“What I am trying to say is that is you. Only you. And I know it’s the wrong time because you are going away to your dream job, but I had to tell you.” She was now sobbing and Rowan pulled her to his chest “you are the most amazing woman I ever met and I don’t deserve you.” He pulled back but kissed her on the forehead “be happy, Aelin.”

And he slowly walked away from her. Aelin watched at him disappear through the barriers. Never looking back. Aelin cried and cried. She stared at the screen watching the message switching from Boarding Now to Gate closed. She sat on a chair in the waiting are and let her desperation take over.

It was half an hour later when she heard a voice call her name. She hadn’t moved from her chair, she just could not leave.

It couldn’t be. He was on a plane.

She stood and turned and saw Rowan standing near the chair with his duffel bag on his shoulder.

“Rowan?” She breathed, her voice shaken by sobs “the plane.”

“I got off the plane.” He chuckled “and pissed off a lot of people since now they have to unload my luggage.”

“You got off the plane.”

He nodded again and took a step to her “I sat at my seat and all I could think was your confession. And realised that I have been an idiot.” He took her hand “I love you, Aelin. You are as well the C to my G. It took me almost to take off to realise it but better late than never.”

Aelin threw herself in his arms and he held her tight “and where else will I find a woman who uses genetics for a love declaration? That was super hot.” Aelin chuckled while inhaling the scent of pine and snow that was so typically him “what about your job?”

Rowan shrugged “my boss was quite gutted at losing me. I guess they will be happy when I phone tomorrow and tell them that I am happy to go back if they still want me.”

“But—” Rowan shushed her with a kiss.

“No buts, I have no regrets. This is the right choice.” And he kissed her.

A few minutes later a voice called him “Mr Whitethorn.” He turned and saw an airport attendant carrying his luggage.

“Thank you, and I am sorry.”

The man grunted something and walked away.

Aelin grabbed one of the bags and his hand and they walked out.

“Let’s be clear, I blame oxytocin.”

Rowan stopped and pulled her to him and then lifted Aelin in his arms, not caring about all the hundreds of people around them.

“I love you, Aelin Galathynius.”

#rowaelinmonth #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #rowan x aelin #rowaelin #fluff

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mikauzoran · 5 years

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Lukadrien Drabbles: Nachtmusik Chapter Four

A Little Night Music (Eine Kleine Nachtmusik) Chapter Four: The more things stay the same...

“My father would kill me if I got a tattoo,” Adrien sighed, twirling a pen between his fingers as he leaned in to get a better look at the simple reference doodles Luka had drawn.

“You’d have to get it somewhere no one would see,” Luka hummed, going over the runes beneath the leftmost raven to thicken the lines.

Adrien scoffed. “Luka, I’m a model. My body is public property. There is no ‘somewhere no one would see’.”

Luka looked up and frowned. “Your body is yours…and whoever you decide to share it with’s…not public property.”

Adrien set the pen down on the counter and put his hands up in surrender. “Aren’t you getting discouraged yet?” he wondered.

“How so?” Luka went back to the doodle of the ravens.

“Trying to teach me self-worth,” Adrien explained. “Isn’t it frustrating having to repeat the same things over and over?”

“Not particularly.” Luka shrugged. “I mean, you’re only the way you are now because some people—who shall remain unnamed yet obvious—have been telling you you’re worthless and undesirable for years. Realistically, I figure it’s going to take me a solid two or three years of constant fussing and lavishing of praise and affection to get you back up somewhere close to normal. Why would I be frustrated after only four months?”

Adrien didn’t reply.

Luka looked up, an eyebrow quirking.

Adrien stared. “Are you serious?”

Luka’s brow pulled together into a frown. “It…probably is going to take longer than two or three years, honestly…but I’ve got time.” Luka’s eyes flicked back down to the doodles on the back of the flyer announcing a Greek music festival that weekend.

Adrien continued to stare, wondering what he had done in a former life to deserve this man’s friendship and devotion.

“…You could get a tattoo on your stomach,” Luka broke the silence after a minute or two had passed without words.

Adrien rubbed his stomach just above his bellybutton. “I pose shirtless or with my shirt unbuttoned sometimes. I think they’d see it.”

Luka snickered, looking up to surreptitiously wink. “I was thinking…lower, Angel.”

Adrien frowned, looked down, and then burst into laughter. “Geez. What kind of tattoo would I get on my pelvis?”

Luka shrugged, self-satisfaction still clinging to his lips. “What kind of tattoo would you get anywhere else?”

Adrien bit his lip. “Haven’t really thought about it.”

“How about a snake?” Luka offered.

Adrien smiled incredulously. “On my lower abdomen? Isn’t that kind of…I don’t know…suggestive?”

“I think the only people who would see it would be in a suggestive mood anyway,” Luka reasoned.

Adrien covered his face with his hands, shoulders trembling with laughter as he shook his head. “I think I’m too pure to be having this conversation.”

Luka rolled his eyes. “Please. Says the guy who has made suggestive jokes at my expense on numerous occasions.”

Adrien removed his hands from his eyes to playfully slap at Luka’s arm. He glanced furtively towards the stairwell to the upper deck. “What if your mom or sisters walk in?”

Luka snorted unconcernedly. “Juleka would gang up on whomever she most felt like seeing blush at that moment, Rose would go into hysterics over how we’re supposedly a couple now, and Maman would tell me to make sure my box of condoms isn’t expired and remind me how long it’s been since I last had need of them.”

“My father would…I don’t even know,” Adrien sighed. “Have a heart attack? He wouldn’t be supportive of me having a physical relationship with anyone like your mom is.”

“I kind of wish she was less supportive,” Luka grumbled. “She thinks it’s strange that I don’t have any interest in sleeping with people until I feel a really strong connection with them. She thinks I should experiment more.”

“I wonder why, if you’re happy the way you are,” Adrien hummed.

Luka shook his head, going back to tracing the runes on the doodle. “She comes from an era of free love, so it’s weird for her that I would only want one partner in a long-term, committed relationship…. Like…even though she was with our father for a long time, I’m not actually certain that Juleka and I have the same biological father. We look pretty different, and…Maman and my father’s eyes are both blue…but Juleka’s are brown. Genetically, that’s…”

Adrien drew in a slow, deep breath.

“…Part of me feels like they shouldn’t teach kids about genetics and Punnett squares until they’re old enough to deal with the reality that they’re adopted or their siblings aren’t full-blooded siblings,” Luka snorted. “…But we were talking about tattoos.”

Adrien nodded. “You should get the snake tattoo on your pelvis. You could pull it off.”

Luka grinned at the flattery. “You think?”

“It fits your image.”

“Because I was seriously considering it,” Luka informed.

“Were you really?” Adrien leaned in closer, picking up his pen once more and twirling it between his fingers. “What kind of snake? A cobra like Sass?”

Luka shook his head. “Something more stylized, more Zen, less threatening. Maybe a sleeping snake coiled up. Maybe a Chinese calligraphy-style snake.”

Adrien nodded in encouragement. “That would be kind of cool. I’d like to see that!”

Luka blushed. “I’m giving you the opportunity to remember the placement of the tattoo and adjust your enthusiasm.”

Adrien grimaced. “Pretend I made some kind of flirty, teasing comment to save face that made you feel slightly flattered but also a little uncomfortable.”

Luka gave him a thumbs up. “I actually think it would be cool to get an entire Chinese zodiac…plus a cat.”

Adrien’s face lit up. “Like Fruits Basket!”

Luka’s eye twitched as Adrien completely missed the implication. “Uh…what’s that?”

Adrien’s brow scrunched into an unimpressed frown. “You’ve never heard of Fruits Basket? It’s an anime…and a manga, but you have to see it. It’s one of the classics!” Adrien insisted adamantly. “I’ll have to show you. Marinette and I have been getting together for take away Chinese food and anime on Saturdays the past few months. We’re almost done with the anime we’re watching now, and, after that, we’re going to have to have you over to show you Furuba.”

Luka tried not to let the conflicting emotions show on his face. “That sounds like a lot of fun, but I don’t think Marinette would appreciate me intruding.”

Adrien rolled his eyes. “Marinette wouldn’t mind. She loves having you around. It would be fun, all three of us together.”

“Yeah,” Luka sighed, imagining an alternate reality where both Marinette and Adrien were ecstatic to have him around for all of the reasons he wanted them to be. “But it sounds like anime and Chinese is your thing—just the two of you. You would feel kind of off if Marinette started coming to our jam sessions or family meals, wouldn’t you?”

Adrien shifted awkwardly on the kitchen stool, his nose crinkling. “…That’s different.”

“Maybe it’s not to her,” Luka suggested kindly. “I’ll tell you what, you and I can watch that anime together, just the two of us. How does that sound?”

Adrien’s smile came back, and he nodded. “Deal…. So…tattoos?”

Luka grinned, motioning down at the doodles. “I don’t want a sleeve or anything too big or noticeable. Just some little decorative tattoos here and there that can be hidden easily.”

Adrien switched hands so that he was twirling the pen in his right, freeing up his left hand to point. “I love the concept of Odin’s ravens on your shoulder blades…and a snake around your wrist under your usual bracelet is too funny.”

“I’m also thinking about getting a little pawprint on my finger where I usually wear my ring,” Luka announced tentatively, awaiting Adrien’s reaction.

“A pawprint?” Adrien’s head slowly tipped to the side. “Why a pawprint?”

Luka fought not to show his chagrin. “You know,” he replied conversationally. “like Chat Noir.”

Adrien’s eyes widened, and his face took on an amazed gleam. “Really?”

“Of course,” Luka replied smoothly, inwardly steeling himself. “I am his biggest fan after all…both in and out of the mask.”

Adrien let out one of those dazzling, marble machine laughs, hitting a jerky collection of pitches that somehow managed to sound just perfect to Luka.

“You’d have to fight off hordes of fangirls for that title,” Adrien cautioned.

Luka shrugged. “I’d take them…and I would win.”

“You’re wasted on Chat Noir and whoever he is behind that mask,” Adrien replied in awe, a wide grin spreading from one corner of his mouth to the other. “He could never appreciate you the way you deserve. He’s too full of himself.”

Luka shook his head. “I’ve met Chat Noir. He may come off as a flirty goofball in public, but in private he’s sweet and considerate.”

“Wow,” Adrien chuckled. “If you like him so much, you should marry him. I’m sure you two would make adorable kittens together.”

Luka’s entire face went burgundy as he burst out laughing. “Oh my God,” he gasped, burying his face in his hands.

“As for me, Viperion is much better,” Adrien continued, smirking in triumph as Luka continued to laugh convulsively in a mix of misery, disbelief, and genuine amusement.

“Seriously,” Adrien pretended to pout. “He’s all mysterious and suave and sexy. I’d like to see him in a suit…. Though…Chat Noir is pretty hot. I mean, his butt…”

“Perfection,” Luka snickered.

“Exactly,” Adrien emphatically agreed. “…Do you think Viperion would think I was a slut if I wanted to have occasional threesomes with you and Chat Noir?”

Luka looked up from where his head rested on the countertop. He wiped a tear from his eye and wondered, “How did this become a thing?”

“What?” Adrien hummed, satisfied with his work. “The whole pretending to be gay for Chat Noir and Viperion thing? Remember when Rose got us to play Kill, Screw, Marry last month, and I said I would kill Chat Noir, screw Ladybug, and marry Viperion? And then you said you would kill Ladybug, screw Chat Noir, and marry me? And then Juleka made a joke about foursomes. And then I observed that it seemed like the best of friends always made jokes about sleeping with one another? Like Marinette and Alya and Nino and me, so…it seemed like a logical leap to start doing that with you?” Adrien frowned as a thought occurred to him. “…But is it weird because you’re bi? I know a lot of friends joke about being gay for one another, but…is this insulting? If so, I’m really sorry,” he backpedaled hard. “I’m still kind of new to this whole ‘acceptable casual social etiquette’ thing. Tell me if I cross a line. Please. I don’t want to screw this up.”

Luka straightened and shook his head. “You’re okay. I don’t mind your flirting and teasing. I know you’re a flirty person to start with and that it’s not just me. I don’t have any delusions about that. I mean, I’ve seen you and Nino. You and Nino need to get a room and work out some of the sexual tension between you two sometime. Put the poor man out of his misery, Angel.”

Adrien rolled his eyes. “I think Alya is doing a fine job. She doesn’t need my help…but we’re okay?” He eyed Luka anxiously.

Luka nodded. “I know you’re just joking. No offence taken.”

“Good,” Adrien sighed in relief. “…So…tattoos?”

The side of Luka’s mouth rose in a fond smile. “I think I’m going to get the pawprint tattoo on my finger. Do you think this looks accurate?” He indicated the doodle below Munin the raven.

Adrien frowned, pulling the paper in closer.

“I mean, I’m always distracted when I’m around Chat Noir, so I haven’t paid very close attention to what the pawprint on the ring looks like,” Luka explained.

“Distracted?” Adrien hummed, peeking up mischievously. “By his butt?”

Luka had mostly meant the akuma, but…

Luka bumped Adrien’s shoulder and replied a little too genuinely, too tenderly, “By his eyes. I’m a sucker for his eyes.”

Adrien’s heart jumped. “…Mine are prettier.”

“Jealous, Angel?” Luka snickered.

“Confused,” Adrien thought.

Confused because he kind of wanted Luka to be serious. Sometimes, Luka would say something painfully sweet, and Adrien’s heart would ache for Luka’s words to be true. And that was extremely confusing because Adrien wasn’t interested in guys. At least…he had never been interested in guys before. It had only ever been Ladybug, but…sometimes Luka confused him.

“Super jealous,” Adrien snorted.

“Don’t be. He’s not interested in me, so I’m all yours, Angel,” Luka chuckled at his own expense.

“Don’t you forget it,” Adrien clicked his tongue, switching the ink pen to his left hand to draw. “The pawprint is more like this.”

Luka nodded, impressed by the likeness. “…How is it that you have such an intimate knowledge of Chat Noir’s ring?”

Adrien looked up and answered with a straight face, “Oh? Didn’t I tell you? I’m sleeping with him.”

“Oh?” Luka snickered. “Be a friend and get me his number, would you?”

“I don’t think I want to share,” Adrien pouted.

“Share which one of us?” Luka arched an eyebrow.

Adrien smirked, twirling the ink pen playfully. “Either.”

Luka rolled his eyes. “In all seriousness—”

The pen went flying from Adrien’s hand, landing over by the wraparound couch.

“Oops.” Adrien smiled sheepishly. He hopped down from the stool into a feline crouch, scooped up the pen, and slowly rolled up, his posterior leading.

Luka’s brain blew a fuse. He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help watching. It had happened so fast, and now he couldn’t keep from staring. He was already a little riled up from all the suggestive flirting, and now…ngeh. His mind was in the gutter.

Did Adrien know what he was doing? He couldn’t. He couldn’t have any idea. Even if he did, he wouldn’t. Adrien may have been a flirt, but he wasn’t a tease. He would never.

Adrien turned back around, and Luka scrambled to put a lid on all thoughts of Adrien’s butt and Adrien naked and sinking his teeth into the flesh of Adrien’s hip until he left a mark and Adrien’s laugh and Adrien’s eyes and how bad he wanted this guy. Because Adrien had no idea, and it was an abuse of Adrien’s trust to be sitting there staring and having those kinds of thoughts when Adrien was under the belief that their flirting was only all in good fun.

“Sorry. What were you saying?” Adrien smiled innocently as he sat back down on the stool next to Luka.

Luka shifted uncomfortably, mentally cursing his preference for wearing skinny jeans that were too tight to begin with.

Belatedly, he realized that Adrien had asked him a question. “Um… Was I talking?”

Adrien nodded, waiting expectantly.

Luka gulped, trying to discretely regulate his breathing. “Uh…I forget.”

Adrien shrugged, not suspecting. “Well, just let me know if you remember.”

“S-Sure,” Luka replied thickly, shrugging off his overshirt because suddenly the main cabin was sweltering.

And then Adrien took hold of his hand.

The touch felt like a hot iron on Luka’s unexpectedly hypersensitive skin.

“May I?” Adrien inquired, motioning to take Luka’s ring off.

Luka nodded, not trusting his voice.

With the retrieved ink pen, Adrien carefully traced the pawprint onto Luka’s flesh, blowing on it to help it dry before slipping the ring back over it.

Internally, Luka was panting. The contact, the way Adrien bit his bottom lip in concentration, the way he puckered his lips to blow the ink dry…simultaneously too much and yet not enough. He almost whimpered when Adrien withdrew his hands.

“Done,” Adrien announced proudly.

Luka pulled the ring back off carefully to inspect Adrien’s work and immediately came to a decision: he was going that very evening to get that pawprint permanently tattooed onto his skin before the ink had a chance to smudge or wash off.

“I love it,” Luka breathed. “It’s perfect.”

“Glad to hear it,” Adrien chuckled, obviously pleased with himself.

Luka caught Adrien’s right hand. “Would you be comfortable with moving your ring to a different finger for a second?”

Adrien nodded, slipping his ring off and sliding it onto the ring finger of his left hand.

Luka picked up his own pen and made two little dots on the finger, reminiscent of puncture wounds. “Done,” he announced.

Adrien frowned, inspecting his “tattoo”. “Bite mark?” he questioned.

“Snake bite.” Luka winked.

Adrien tittered in amusement. “Oh no! Aren’t viper bites lethal? You’d better suck the venom out before I die!”

“Drama queen,” Luka snorted even as he grinned.

“Seriously!” Adrien insisted, hamming it up as he held out his hand. “Quick! I’m already feeling woozy!”

Luka took Adrien’s hand and delicately brought it to his lips for a feather-light kiss.

Adrien’s heartbeat tripped. His stomach fluttered. His breath caught.

Luka looked up, his eyes meeting Adrien’s as the most perfect blush skated over Adrien’s cheeks, highlighting the dazed look in Adrien’s eyes as his pupils widened.

Luka’s breath hitched.

At the same moment, a thought occurred to both boys:

“Shoot. I’m in serious trouble.”

#Adrien Agreste/Luka Couffaine #Miraculous Ladybug #Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction #Lukadrien #Adrien Agreste #Luka Couffaine #Flirting #Mikau's Writings #A Little Night Music (Eine Kleine Nachtmusik)

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spyderwomcn · 5 years

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fear and anger || solo

Summary: Jessica’s decision to let Miles in on her past and bring him to fight against Hydra backfires spectacularly. Jess got out of Hydra’s base, but Miles wasn’t with her. Jess promised that she would come for him, and even with the city turning to chaos around her, she isn’t breaking that promise. Trigger warnings: kidnapping, torture, experimentation, mutilation, violence, murder

The memory came back to Jess in waves. Every other night, maybe once a week if she was extremely lucky (or unlucky, depending on how you looked at it) she was back on the mountainside at Wundagore, trampling through long grass and bushes until she arrived at the Punnett squares her mother had set up to detail the proportion of arachnid species that existed there. Jess always had an affinity with them, something that should have set off alarm bells but at the time was written off as an innate scientific curiosity, and she remembered her mother’s smiling face as the spider crawled over Jess’s hand, as it curled its way through her fingers without once showing signs of aggression.

The spider will be safe, Jessie, her mother said, as long as you don’t make it angry, and don’t make it scared.

Jess learned quickly that if you did either of those two things, the spider would react instinctively, intensively, regardless of whether the actions it took were self sacrificial. She watched as, in desperation to escape her grip, the spider launched itself from the palm of her hand into a puddle on the ground, drowning within seconds of splashing into the water. Anger and fear, Miriam Drew had supplied, pushing hair back from Jess’s face and tucking it behind her ear as the young girl cried for the lost life, are the two worst emotions you can have.

Anger and fear. Jess often wondered whether those were what her mother felt in her final moments, before Hydra made her into a grotesque art display to send a message to her daughter, to her estranged husband, and to punish her for daring to think that she could ever get out from under their thumb. Physically, of course, it wasn’t even necessarily difficult to get out if you were kept within their walls for years, particularly with the training they put their agents through. At any stage during her childhood, Jess could have stuck to the walls and then the ceiling, manipulated where she knew the CCTV coverage was weak, used her venom blasts to short out electric boards throughout the bases, but she didn’t. She didn’t, because Hydra had never been about physical force. It was about control, and control, as with so many other things, began within the mind.

That was probably why, despite being free for all intents and purposes, Jess was still trapped in those cells she slept in, the concrete ground that dug into her back and made her fights the next morning even more painful with each movement. Each punch, each duck, each venom blast had been excruciating purely because pain was seen to be the ideal, pain was necessary to hone her powers, to stop her abilities from overwhelming her.

Jess had all three now - pain, anger, fear.

She had pain, watching Miles be dragged back into the elevator – no, not dragged. Taken, and taken willingly, because he had to go and play the hero and ask them to leave her out of it. Did he not understand that she was always going to be in it? That everything she had done since leaving Hydra had been entirely in an attempt to atone, to prove to herself that she could be good, that anyone could make that choice if they wanted? When her fist met with the tenth Hydra agent’s face of the day, finally splitting her knuckles, it was a relief to see the blood. The first three bases she broke into, Jess was pretty confident in saying that she was entirely motivated by that pain. Her body was screaming at her to stop, her hands bloody and blistered from the electricity constantly burning at her fingertips, going up her arms, even so far as to lick her shoulders when the agents proved to be particularly unhelpful. Pain – she could work with pain. Despite her best intentions to combat her training, she had never been particularly successful. Pain was where she worked best, it was when her mind was sharpest, when her powers were the most pronounced. She tore through dozens of agents in the time it had taken her to fight only five when Miles was taken, with no panic or guilt or desperation to hold her back.

Then, she had to go home. It had been sixteen hours since Miles had been taken, and her hands were beginning to shake. Jess recognised vacantly as she walked through the door of her apartment that she hadn’t eaten since the previous morning. She hadn’t even stopped for something to drink. Sleep was an impossibility, but she could grab a sandwich and some orange juice. She could review her case files, try to drag up a fourth Hydra base in the general vicinity of New York, because she knew her mother – her foster mother. Jess knew she would flaunt it, that all of this was just another elaborately sick teaching moment, so there was no way Miles was out of state. There was no way he was dead, either. She repeated that to herself over and over and over again, until the glass in her hand smashed, shattering over the table and her uneaten sandwich.

Jess gave up on food. She gave up on intel. Her hands began to heal as she picked the glass out of them and ran cool water over the burns. Scars wouldn’t appear, she knew that much. She carried no scars, not even from the worst of days, the worst of missions, the worst of family intentions. The pain began to fade, and then came the anger.

It would be so easy to be angry at Hydra. She’d been angry at the organisation her entire life. They had stripped her down. They had made her into a monster, had trained her for their own means, had manipulated what she thought of life and love, turning her into whatever the hell she was now. Now – now they had taken Miles, for no good reason. He had been fighting against them, but it was clear Jess had brought him there. It was clear that he was young, that he was idealistic, that he was good. All Hydra would aim to do would be snuff that out, to prove to themselves that, deep down, everyone else was evil too. It exonerated them. The idea of Miles being used as a pawn for that end sickened her. It made a venom blast go through the wall of her apartment, made getting her security deposit back impossible.

But she couldn’t be angry at Hydra, not entirely. As she worked through locations based on gut feelings, most of them panning out just as she had imagined (Madame Hydra knew how Jess would think, she knew what clues she would follow, knew what traps to set), Jess realised she was getting punched in the face a lot more than she had twenty-four hours before. She was getting burned, shot at, threatened and surprised more and more regularly, and it wasn’t because she was tired, because she was, but that had never stopped her before. It was because she deserved it, in every definition of the word.

Hell, it was Jess’s fault Miles was in this situation in the first place. If she had just kept fighting bank robbers and taking down gangsters on the streets of Brooklyn, this wouldn’t have happened. If she had just turned away from Miles when he spoke to her that first night on the rooftop, this wouldn’t have happened. If she shut the door in his face when he showed up with takeaway, this wouldn’t have happened.

Momentary pain for a lifetime of peace and quiet. Of course, Miles wasn’t exactly built for peace. He ran into bad situations headfirst, because he knew that other people were terrified inside of them, and he had a responsibility, the ability, to do something about it. But Jess’s brand of screwed up was a whole other ballgame. She shouldn’t have let him in. That was her first mistake – always her first mistake.

Fear came last. It crept in gradually, insidiously, and only came to the forefront when Jess was in the burning remains of her fifteenth base, Hydra agents scattered around her and lab coats left with scorch marks on their backs. She wasn’t sure how much she had released from her fingertips – she doubted that she cared. Hydra had always been one area that wasn’t grey for her. They deserved to be taken, deserved to be snuffed out, and they were only adding to that every single day. She pushed herself up from the ground, wincing as her bones protested, ripping a sleeve off a lab coat as she went past so that she could press it against the gaping wound on her side.

“Come on,” Jess muttered, leaning over the computer, only to come to the same conclusion as she had fourteen times before. Every folder had been wiped half an hour before she arrived, except for one – Arachne. Jess knew what it contained, but after the first time trying to delete it, she realised that it was another game. Still, she checked through it, on the off chance that between hundreds of clips of her various missions and training sessions with Hydra, there might just be something to link her back to Miles.

There wasn’t. Jess let out a shaky breath, stepping back from the computer. She went for the lighter in her holster, ready to do as she had done over and over and over again for the past seventy-two hours, but hesitated before setting fire to the rubble around her.

Her gut feelings had been exhausted. Her intel was proving useless. She had burned half of Hydra’s New York presence to the ground, and she still felt hollow. Gutless. They would just grow back – two heads in the place of one, more arms than ever to reach out and infect the city that was already going to hell in a handbasket. Super-villains were on the streets, tearing the place apart, and if Miles was beside her right now he would be begging her to get out and do something to protect Brooklyn and the city itself.

Jess flicked the lighter into the rubble, making for the exit with a haste entirely dictated by the survival instincts that all spiders should have, but Miles apparently didn’t. Because dedication outweighed survival. Because family outweighed survival.

Fire engines screamed on the horizon, but Jess knew by the time they got there, there would be nothing left but a few scientists, agents and former prisoners scattered on the grass outside, waiting for law enforcement to arrive and clean up the many messes that Jess left in her wake. She returned home again, giving her neighbour a small wave on her way past, and the second the door was closed she pressed herself against it, sliding to the floor.

Her phone slid out of her pocket, rattling against the wooden floorboards. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and Jess prided herself on holding them back, at least until she realised her shirt was soaked with water that had dripped down. She sniffed, scrolling through her contacts.

She could call Coulson, May, Daisy – she could get SHIELD on the job and have a team there within an hour at most. She knew that, for all the mistakes she had made, they would help her out when it mattered. What if he never comes back? She could text JJ, ask her whether she’s come across any strange whispers, give her the patterns and see if she picked something different out of them. What if I’m the reason Miles dies twice in this universe? Bobbi, Clint, Natasha, Iron Fist, Hunter, hell even Luke, any of them would help her out if she asked them. All it would take would be a quick phone call, an admission of guilt, and Miles would be safe. What if the only thing you find is a body? What if she has done to him what she did to you? What if he becomes like you? Can you live with that?

It didn’t matter what she could’ve done, or what she should’ve done, or what she might find. Jess had promised Miles she would come for him, and what she was doing now wasn’t working. She bit down on her lip, chewing until she could taste metal in her mouth, and lifted her phone to her ear.

“Hey,” she said, voice thick and far too low, giving her away in an instant. “No, I’m not. They’ve got him. I need to get him back.”

Anything else wasn’t an option. It couldn’t be. Jess had been forced to save herself, and she was damned if she was making Miles go through that too.

Just hang on, she thought to herself, over and over again. Just hold on, Miles. It was the closest to prayer Jess had ever managed, and she just hoped it wasn’t too late to hop on the bandwagon – at this point, she’d try anything, anything, to get him back.

#solo #;; born broken || self #;; the mask matters || miles morales #(( this is when i realise my tagging system needs work ))

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standforford · 6 years

Text

surrexerunt

aka the carpe noctem fic i have been waiting to post for a YEAR. takes place on the date of posting (9/16/2018).

Fiddleford discovered a simple note waiting for him on his desk when he returned to the dorm late that evening. It was brief and to the point, scrawled in Ford’s looping cursive.

Meet me at the cavern. -Stanford

It wasn’t far to the park that was just off-campus, a five-minute bike ride at most. Then about a quarter mile back to the waterfall. Fiddleford flicked on his flashlight, briefly scanning up and down the rocky incline just to the right of the waterfall. He clicked it off and stowed it in his back pocket before beginning to scale the slope before him. The dark didn’t matter much. He knew every handhold and foothold by heart despite not having visited the spot in quite a while. He clambered up over the top and made his way upstream, tracing the trail they’d worn along the riverbank from coming up here again and again. It had been a while since they’d been here, but the spot was still familiar.

Soon enough, he came upon the small clearing by the water that the pair had once frequented. He smiled absentmindedly to himself as he strode toward a small cavern that was neatly tucked into the rock face. The warm glow from the lantern in the center spilled out into the night, framing Ford’s silhouette. Stanford sat cross-legged on a blanket inside, reading a book.

It was a small, cozy space. The cave itself was maybe ten feet by teen feet at the very most and the ceiling was just a bit shorter than Fiddleford was tall. He ducked inside, taking a seat next to Ford and setting his banjo down beside him.

Ford glanced up at him as he sat down, then back at his book. He couldn’t help thinking about how... good-looking Fidds was at the moment. Fidds was always handsome, really, but the way that stupid possum t-shirt hung off him and the way he was sitting next to him now, with an elbow propped on his lap and with his face resting in one hand, eyes staring contentedly at him… those eyes. He could never come up with a single adjective to encapsulate them. Always bright and attention-grabbing, sparkling and full of intelligence. Something about those eyes.

He brought himself back to reality, flipping a page in his book and feigning interest. He glanced up at Fiddleford again as if noticing him for the first time. “Oh, Fiddleford. How nice of you to join me,” he spoke, eyes wandering back down to the book.

“You’re real funny when you’re trying to act casual,” Fiddleford said smugly, placing his hand a little more hesitantly on top of Ford’s. Ford twitched a bit at the sudden contact, but let the muscles in his hand relax. He closed his book, setting it behind him and grabbing something behind his back. Finally, time to reveal his little project. The past few weeks had been interesting, certainly. All those hours spent in the greenhouse had led to this. He produced a massive, bright red rose and extended it toward Fiddleford with one hand, staring at his lap. He’d tried his best to make it perfect. The flower itself was freakishly large and it seemed to have too many petals to be natural. It was a deep, rich, shade of crimson and it smelled amazing. He’d made sure of that. He hoped the blush on his face wasn’t visible in the low light, he could already feel the heat rising to his cheeks.

“I…” A choked sound came from his throat. “…made you something.”

Fiddleford took the flower from him, turning it in his hands and examining it before holding it underneath his nose and inhaling deeply. He ran his fingertips over the petals, which were as soft and as smooth as silk, then looked up at Ford. He smiled and leaned close to Ford’s face before pressing a soft kiss to his cheek and letting a whisper slip past his lips. “That’s awfully sweet of you, honeybee.” The nickname nearly sent Ford into a daze. A warmth spread through his chest and his thoughts scrambled. His skull might as well have been stuffed with cotton balls. He was only dimly aware of Fidds speaking again at first, but he quickly forced himself to focus on the words. “You said you ‘made’ this? Is it real?”

Ford could feel his hands clamming up, so he drew them back. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, yes.” He gestured outward with one hand. "I simply crossbred a few different varieties of roses, did a bit of accelerated artificial selection. Had to make a lot of Punnett squares. Middle-school-level science, really. Nothing impressive.” He let out a chuckle, regaining some of his confidence now. Simple science, yes, but he’d put so much care into the selection process. An embarrassing amount of care, really. He didn’t want to say it’d been an obsession, but… his mind flashed back to the image of a hundred crumpled papers in the wastebasket, full of scrapped Punnett squares and mindless doodles of flowers and Fiddleford and corvids and six-fingered hands. He knew Fiddleford loved flowers.

He felt a hand take hold of his and froze up, tensing. He closed his eyes, grimacing as he felt Fiddleford’s dry skin meet his sweaty palms. “Sure are sweatin’ up a storm there, darling,” Fidds said, grinning.

Ford let out a breath, wishing his heart would slow down a little. Darling. “Sorry.” He tried to draw his hand back, but Fiddleford only tightened his grip, refusing to let go. He could feel the squelching of his perspiration between their hands. Gross.

“I don’t mind. I love your hands, even if they’re sticky as a muddy hog,” Fidds said with a slight snicker, gently bringing one of Ford’s hands toward his face. He laid a kiss on top of Ford’s fingers and Ford had to actively try not to faint for a moment. “Thank you. For the rose. This is really nice.” Fidds smiled shyly. “How long did it take ya?”

“A few weeks,” he said. I wanted to make it perfect, he didn’t say. Only the best for you, he didn’t say.

He stiffened as he felt Fidds lean on his shoulder. “You’re real cute,” Fidds said, smiling. Ford felt an involuntary shudder pass through his body. “Somebody’s a little jittery,” Fidds snickered, pulling away from him.

“Sorry,” Ford muttered again. His hands felt like they were burning, but he kept them in place.

“Hey. It’s okay to to be nervous, y’know.” Fiddleford’s voice was lower now.

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh my God, Stanford. Stop apologizing.”

“Sor-”

“No.” Fiddleford pressed a finger against Ford’s lips. Ford sputtered, swatting him away but laughing a little in spite of himself.

Ford turned to the side, a dopey smile lingering on his face as silence fell between them. He looked back to Fidds, glancing down at their clasped hands. There was silence for a moment as they looked at one another.

Ford’s breath caught in his throat. He took a shuddering breath in and spoke. “Can I kiss you?” The question was frank. Fiddleford looked startled for a moment, perhaps by the honesty and forwardness of the request. He blinked a few times. “If you’re not comfortable wi-”

“Of course,” Fiddleford spoke, leaning in close to him. He paused with his mouth inches from Stanford’s, looking almost smugly at him. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Ford wasn’t sure who leaned in, but he didn’t really care because their lips were meeting now and he was feeling so many stupid, dumb cliches at once and he felt like he was in some cheap romance novel but it felt so nice and... maybe this whole love thing wasn’t so overrated after all.

They broke apart after a few seconds. Stanford was breathless and flushed, his heart fluttering rapidly in his chest. His first kiss. Well, not his first kiss, but his first real kiss. He’d kissed Fidds before, but that was to prove a point, it didn’t count. Kind of sad it’d taken this long, but he was glad it had come here and now… with Fiddleford. He couldn’t couldn’t even think, let alone describe how he was feeling. He was simply warm and… happy. He’d never been this overwhelmed.

“I love you,” Ford blurted suddenly, the words falling from his mouth before he could think to stop them. He’d said it many times before, but this time, well... this time was different.

Fidds smiled, pressing a kiss to his nose. Ford couldn’t help but giggle like a giddy child, his face buzzing with heat. He moved his hands to hover over his boyfriend’s sides. Boyfriend… that word still felt strange to him. How was he supposed to ask to touch him without it sounding weird or perverted? Would Fidds even want that? Was it wrong to want just to be close to him? “Can I…?” he asked in a hushed voice.

“Go ahead,” Fidds replied, tone encouraging. Ford placed his hands on either side of his ribcage, moving them slowly down to rest on his hips. He leaned forward, hesitating slightly before leaning forward and brushing a soft kiss onto Fiddleford’s lips. He leaned back a bit, then kissed him again, longer and deeper this time. It was messy and his awkward, one hand fumbling to grip Fidd’s shirt and the other drifting up his chest to rest on his shoulder. Everything felt incredible for a moment until he felt a twinge of doubt in the back of his mind. He pulled back, looking away. Things didn’t just go his way like this. Was Fiddleford just letting him do this to make him feel better?

“Somethin’ wrong?” Fidds asked, seeing the worry in his eyes.

“I feel like I’m doing this to you, not with you,” Ford admitted.

“Nah.” Fidds shook his head. “I want this, promise. I want you.” There was a beat of silence where Ford had to remind himself to keep breathing. “Can I touch your face?” Fidds asked a bit nervously, breaking Ford’s trance.

“Uh… Yes. You have permission to touch me anywhere. Within reason,” Ford replied.

Fidds snorted (which was adorable, Ford thought). “I wasn’t planning on doing anything unreasonable.”

“Well, I’m talking to the man who faced down a mob of angry frat boys with only a bibi gun,” Ford spoke, amusement dancing in his eyes as he unconsciously leaned closer. “I never know with you.”

“I did that all for you, you bastard,” Fidds whispered teasingly yet affectionately, touching their foreheads together.

“I know,” Ford murmured, smiling.

Fiddleford laid his left hand softly upon his cheek, tenderly cupping his face. Ford couldn’t help but lean into the the warmth. He closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing. He felt like his lungs were shaking and his breath was caught in his throat and… it was just… He’d never been touched so gently before. By anyone.

“I love you,” Fiddleford said.

Ford didn’t realize tears were welling in his eyes until Fidds lifted his hand away. He was trembling slightly as he looked up at Fiddleford, silently cursing himself for getting so damn emotional. He didn’t even know why he was on the verge of tears.

“Are you alright? Do ya want me to stop?” Fiddleford asked.

“No. I…” He placed his hand on top of Fiddleford’s and guided it back to his cheek, then slid his fingers between Fiddleford’s. “I really like this,“ he admitted quietly. Fidds brought his other hand up so that both of them held his face. Ford practically melted into his palms, letting out a breath. He’d never been touched this way before. It definitely wasn’t sexual, but it sure as science wasn’t platonic. It was… nice. Amazing, actually.

Fiddleford’s right hand drifted up to tangle in Ford’s hair. Fidds pulled him forward. Ford buried his face in Fidds’ chest and wrapped his arms around him, a few tears trickling down his cheeks. He still wasn’t sure why he was crying, but here he was, the same fucking mess that arrived at Backupsmore all those months ago.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. I've got you, buddy,” Fidds murmured, placing a kiss on top of his head. He petted his hair a few times, rubbing the other hand up and down his back in a soothing motion. “I’ve got you.”

#my posts #carpe noctem au

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thenerdcommander · 6 years

Text

5 Things Meme

Tagged by @yes-this-is-sam. I never get tagged in stuff so YAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSS QUEEN

5 things you can find on my blog

Mass Effect

Dragon Age

The dankest of memes

Whatever randomness comes out of my brainhole

A little bit o’ Elder Scrolls

5 things you can find in my room

Cats

My smol babby fish

Me, obviously

A huge frigging mess (see: me)

Heck man you can find everything but Narnia in here tbh

5 things I always wanted to do

A Turian ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Go to Ireland

Get a bunch of big lizards to cuddle

Exist within a fictional universe

Make a living as a creative (not specifically art or writing, but just...creative stuff in general)

5 things that make me happy

OCs. Mine, friends’, other people’s...heck I just love OCs

Friendos

Waking up on a weekday to a quiet, empty house that I can just wander and sing and have a good time without fear of being berated for random crap :’)

Dragon Age, Mass Effect, and Elder Scrolls. And the funny little games like I Am Bread, Goat Simulator, and stuff like that. Mannnn I live and breathe these games XD

Memes, and the less sense they make, the better

5 things on my to-do list

Sleep

Wake up

Eat

Not die

Repeat

5 things you may not know about me

I’m a genetic freak and one of my eyes is two different colors ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ This counts, right?

I used to breed betta fish as a hobby. None of the babies lived past 3 weeks though because my mom forced me to overfeed them. I had 5 different bettas at the time and I actually cultured my own microworms, made my own sponge filters, and I managed to earn a promotion on an aquarium website (full of professionals ._. I literally broke down into tears) for an article I wrote on betta genetics and figuring genetics on the Punnett Square. This was back when I was 13 still. I was a nerd. Still am. I love my fish and I love genetics ;u;

I have Irish, German, and Osage heritage. Temper on all sides, redhead on two.

I have the terrible tendency to slip into accents while I’m talking. I’ve never lived anywhere but the most accent-neutral part of the US and still I find myself randomly and legitimately slipping into Irish, British, Australian, and Texan. That’s generally how you can tell when I’m a little too engaged in a conversation, or I’m getting worked up.

People talk all the time about how they don’t believe in luck, but I’m absurdly lucky. Most things turn out my way in the end, whether there’s effort involved or not. Sometimes bad things happen along the way too, but in the end, everything always ends up the way I want it to. I am my own lucky charm.

Now y’all don’t have to do this, but I’m tagging @sp4cewaifu @semisolidmind and @fine-not-fine

#5 things meme #why don't I ever take anything seriously #this is why we can't have nice things

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fatesought · 7 years

Text

on the fact Johnny has to secretly be a mutant

(disclaimer before we get into this hc/theory: please do not reblog.)

Okay, first, let’s quickly review what we know about the biology for mutant biology and genetics. In a nutshell: 1) the X-gene lays dormant until 2) triggered by high stress/trauma/fear/starvation, 3) usually during puberty for most mutants and 4) that solar (and other severe forms) of radiation can also activate the gene. I’ll also point out that mutants =/= mutates. Mutates are considered humans who have had their DNA drastically altered, usually through some kind of radiation accident (see Hulk etc). Technically, the entirety of the core part of the Fantastic Four are all canonically listed as mutates, including Johnny and Susan. But I call bullshit on that one, especially since Susan and Reed later have two mutant children. Fight me in outside a Denny’s if you think Franklin is a mutant but Valeria isn’t. HERE’S WHY.

At the time of the accident, when the FF gains their powers, Johnny is still in high school. His age to my knowledge is never specified, but we know from later arcs he’s around Peter Parker’s age, so about 15/16 years old. The accident itself? The spacecraft they’ve stolen begins to malfunction and essentially crash due to a sudden radiation storm. Do you know what those are also called? Solar proton events. That’s right, it’s solar radiation that causes the ship and satellite they’re working with to start falling out of orbit. As the adults try to engage autopilot and emergency protols, do you know where Johnny is?

Johnny is in the engine room. Effectively the boiler room of the ship. Right next to all the reactors, the fuel that easily turns explosive, trying to keep him and his sister from blowing into a thousand pieces. It is also arguably the hottest part of the ship -- even before the radiation hits that part of the ship, we see temperatures have climbed into dangerous levels. Touching any of the equipment should be causing third-degree burns from the metal, steam burns -- the whole nine yards. This is something that even the shitty MCU movies make a point of showing. But Johnny hardly reacts to physical pain, registering only his panic and that he’s broke out into a sweat. You’ve seen shitty space movies before -- tell me how many red shirts and astronauts who drew the short straw have died in that room to give everyone else the chance to live. Go on.

Now let’s talk about Johnny’s powers. There’s the obvious pyrokinesis and near invulnerability when it comes to fire, flames and the heat they produce. Most mutants tend to be ‘safe’ from their own mutations. Hmm. It’s already working in overtime to keep him alive by the time the radiation hits him, and we know from Frankie’s birth that radiation only amplifies mutant abilities. Which brings me onto my next point: secondary mutations. These usually don’t kick in until later in life, and can often change the appearance of the person like in the case of Bobby, Kurt, etc.

Johnny has another power: the ability to fly. Sure, he shrugs it off and explains it as relating to how a hot air balloon works, but the point is: it doesn’t immediately manifest after the accident. It’s accelerated, certainly, but there’s still a delay appropriate for a secondary mutation. There’s also the sudden increase in his pyrokinesis -- he can go from causing fire to becoming the fire itself (again, like Bobby and ice in his later years). But unlike Bobby, Johnny can shut off the flames. His power over the fire is amplified by the radiation, and thus he can control it better for flight, for smothering it, and so for.

So the ship crashes. Ben survives because he’s effectively stone. Susan shields herself. Reed should be dead, but isn’t because his molecules essentially puddle out. But JOHNNY IS STILL TRAPPED IN THE ENGINE ROOM WHEN SHIP BREAKS APART AND EXPLODES. Even if a newfound pyrokinesis ability, unless he has the protective adaptation that so often comes with the X-gene.

TL;DR: Johnny Storm is a mutant. I will fight you in Denny’s if you disagree. Some actual biological genetic points beneath the read more if you’re interested.

OKAY SO. It also doesn’t make sense Franklin Richards (Susan and Reed’s OP son) to be born a mutant if at least one of his family isn’t a carrier for the X-gene. I tried to do a punnett square to make a point of this....

Assuming that the M allele represents a generic gene mutation that produces someone with the ability to have superpowers, be it mutate OR mutant. And obvious X is the X-gene. (And MM and XX both being the dominant, homozygous verision of the respective alleles.) And that to produce a mutant offspring, you would have to have BOTH traits in the child. Or else they would be a carrier.

Now. Susan ISN’T BORN with both traits. But she is born with the Xx carrier. However, since her genetics do change at the point of the accident (Reed’s too), to the point that they suddenly have the mm trait... Boom. Red squares are your chances for them to have a mutant child. So a 6/16 or 37.5% that any given child would be a mutant. Now, add the circumstances in which Franklin and Valeria are born under, using alien tech and science to further manipulate the pregnancies so that Susan doesn’t die... increasing the likelihood of a mutant child in both circumstances.

IF SUSAN ISN’T A CARRIER FOR THE X-GENE. Franklin can’t be a mutant. It. Just doesn’t. Work. And if Susan is a carrier, that means Johnny has to at least be a carrier to, but given the aforementioned circumstances, he’s the mutant in the Storm family. Otherwise you end up with Sue and Reed having a 3/4 chance of having a genetically mutate child and 1/4 chance of having a totally human child. (see below)

#☁ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ 「 johnny 」#so this is the basis i play him with #he just is totally unaware of the fact #long post

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