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teaboot · 5 months

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What are "transmasc" and "genderqueer"?

I just woke up so bear with me, but like

Western society has invented this idea of "man" and "woman", right? And we SAY it's actually real, and based on tangible things like sex characteristics- primary, like dicks n' hoo-has- and secondary, like tiddies an facial hair an cellulite.

Well, it turns out that those things ain't divided "correctly" into the man and woman categories all the time.

People with dicks sometimes get tiddies, people without dicks sometimes grow beards and chest hair, beauty standards like "woman thin and hairless and short with small nose and tiny feet" and "man tall and muscular with a beard and broad shoulders" aren't appearing in nature the way we say they should.

(These gendered standards also change over time, but that's a different post.)

What's more, some people have multiple primary characteristics, and it's not even super rare! (Again, worth a different post, and not one I'm really in a position to make.)

So, we say that we didn't just "invent" two exclusive boxes to sort a wide variety and spectrum of characteristics into by pure brute force, but evidence says otherwise. So do we change the rules of our society to fit that evidence?

No, we pick something else to support our beliefs.

Learning about genes and DNA and chromosomes came much later in the game, so most people's grasp of it is this: Men have XY chromosomes, women have XX chromosomes, and no matter what your body is shaped like, that determines which box you go in. Whatever you look like should be padded or amputated or shaved away until you fit in your box.

Except.... we now know that people who outwardly appear to be the perfect ideal poster children of "man" and "woman" are living full, natural, healthy and unbothered lives totally unaware that they have the "wrong" chromosomes. No visibly "mixed" characteristics at all. So there goes that idea out the window.

Unless we say that no, our invention which is fact still holds up- there's just a few mutants and freaks and dysfunctional anomalies that just sort of happen sometimes, like factory flaws that wouldn't exist if things were running as they should.

So what do we do with factory flaws? We "fix" them. Or pressure them to fix themselves. Or, if they can "pass" one way or another, shove them into that box and tell them to shut up about it. Don't fit into either? Then pick one, and make yourself fit.

But... then, if we can pick... if hairy women with flat chests and small hips can shave themselves down and throw on some padding and powder her face to be accepted.... why can't anyone else?

Or, if that same "woman" went, fuck it, cut his hair short and embraced all the "man" characteristics, went by different pronouns and stepped into the "man" box... wouldn't that be okay, too?

And, he'll, what if they changed nothing about themselves and decided to opt out? We've proven that these "universal facts" don't *actually* exist and exceptions are everywhere, so fuck it, right? "Man" and "woman" don't really mean anything tangible anyways, so why not do what makes you happy?

And since, again, evidence shows that "man" and "women" aren't perfect binary boxes with perfect binary traits- why bother living up to those traits at all? Why can't someone assigned to the "woman" box live in the "man" box with long hair and heels on? If I makes him happy, what's the harm?

We don't like this, though, because when you build two boxes that contain the whole world, and people start escaping, or slipping out to live in the one they like more, or switching, or building their own, people begin to wonder why they're living in boxes at all. If we even need boxes.

And the people who maintain the boxes tell us, it's because the boxes are safe, and the boxes are natural, and the boxes have been here exactly as they are since the beginning of time anyways, and NO, they aren't just terrified of life outside the shelter of the box, you're the weird one.

Meanwhile, if we really looked into it, I imagine we'd find more people who don't fit their box criteria, or don't even like their box, at least as often as we find people who do.

Transgender means "someone who isn't in their assigned box".

Genderqueer means, "someone who isn't in their assigned box", but in a the same broad way that "transgender" is- Maybe a him, maybe a her, maybe both, maybe a they, perhaps a xey, and sometimes some of us move around.

I say I'm genderqueer, 'cause that fits me, but "Transmasc" to me personally means, "I know I'm not a woman, and I'm closer to the "man" box, but I'm happier wandering outside the "man" box than I am stepping fully inside. (Dysphoria is part of that, but again, in my opinion it's not vital to the experience.)

And I'm not one for destroying those two boxes entirely- they bring joy to a lot of people.

Just, you know. Maybe making more, different boxes. And maybe little camps out between them. And not treating people who roam the wilderness instead like rabid animals. Is the thing.

Long answer

#Long post #Text post #Gender #Transgender #Transmasc #Genderqueer #Correct me if I'm wrong I'm not fully awake and also wrong sometimes and also a lil dumb on top o that

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jllongwrites · 9 months

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In Which a Queer Pseudo-Christian Attempts To Process His Good Omens Feelings

I. I Want to Be Loved

The first novel I ever tried to write was a romance novel.

It was a very bad novel. I was twelve years old when I started it, and it absolutely read as though it was written by a twelve year old author. I only ever wrote a handful of chapters. I don’t remember much about it now. But I remember that the main character was a frightened, self-loathing mess who scrambled to hide his brokenness behind walls of sarcasm and pretending not to care.

It was the middle of the 1990s, and at twelve years old I knew, the same way I knew that the sky was blue or that grass was green, that nobody would ever love me. Not romantic love. Not the kind of love I wanted. I had not yet learned the word “transgender”—it would be four more years before my household even got the internet—but I knew “gay.” And other words. Already, at twelve, I’d learned so many words for what I was. Freak. Pervert. Abomination.

Unloveable.

Untouchable.

So I wrote stories. I wrote stories, and I created new worlds, worlds where love could exist. Where love could heal and redeem and sanctify. I wrote about monsters, about mutants and aliens, about every sort of non-human freak of nature, and I gave to them all of the love that I knew they deserved. I gave to them all of the love that I hungered for, and I told myself it would be enough to close my eyes and just be able to imagine how all that love might taste on my own aching tongue, how it might feel in my empty belly. It would be enough. It had to be.

II. I Am Loved

Today I am forty one years old.

I’m married. We were married more than ten years ago now. In the morning I wake up and roll over, and my wife is there, still sleeping, and I bury my face against her shoulder and wrap an arm around her waist. I breathe her in, and she’s warm and soft and there and real. I’m happy. I’ve been happier for more years, by now, than all of those years where I wasn’t. Than all of those years where I didn’t think that happiness could be meant for someone like me.

But there are memories that live deep in the bones. Like poisoned arrows—you can take out the arrowhead, but the poison’s already seeped inside. It’s still there. And perhaps you survive that poison, perhaps you live on, you recover, but you’re never quite the same as you were before they shot you down. How could you be?

III. Still I Want to Be Loved

On my forearm there is a tattoo that reads “Beloved.”

It’s in the handwriting of my former pastor, a tiny lipstick lesbian who’s still a good friend, who’d written it on my arm in Sharpie during a Sunday service several years ago. She invited all of us in the congregation up and wrote it on all our arms, marking us as children of God, and it was the culmination of that week’s sermon. I didn’t know then, just as I don’t know now, that I believe in anything like God or in anything like God’s love, but for at least a few hours on that one Sunday morning, I wanted to believe.

I asked her if she would mind if I got the word permanently tattooed, and she said she’d be delighted. So I did.

There is such cruelty in the world, such suffering and such hopelessness, and so precious little of anything like justice or mercy.

My wife told me once that she couldn’t conceive of believing in anything like a personal god who knew or noticed or cared about individual human lives. It would be like a human being caring about, knowing about, an individual ant. You can care about ants as a species, can care about their place in the ecosystem, but you can’t know the heart or individuality of one specific single ant on the other side of the world away, not even if you wanted to.

The Heaven of Good Omens is cold and cruel and empty, and so is its Love, a blasphemous Love that is nothing at all like love. The Hell of Good Omens is cold and cruel and empty, and so is its Hatred, a hollow and passionless thing that is nothing at all like hatred. Neither Heaven nor Hell even sees humanity, as a whole, let alone any individual human being, and “ineffable” is just an airy word for bullshit.

But in this same world there is also an absolute disaster of a demon and the idiotic angel that he loves. They love the world. They love each other. And it’s not Love–not some vague, abstract thing, limp and lifeless—no, it is love, warm and flawed and personal and real. They love the world, because the world has delicious crepes and beautiful music and top-shelf alcohol and gleaming automobiles you can drive way too fast. They love the world, because they love people, individual people, stupid and weak and infuriating, as well as people generally, because it was people who invented crepes and cars and the Velvet Underground.

They want to save this world and its people, because they love them. And despite the opposition of both Heaven and Hell themselves, despite all the fumblings of human beings, despite how the demon’s a broken drunken mess and the angel’s a blind well-meaning fool, sometimes they actually do save the world. Sometimes they even manage to save each other.

I don’t believe in God. I don’t believe in Heaven, and I don’t believe in Hell. But, romantic fool that I am, I still believe in love.

#state of the writer #good omens #essay #love #writing #writers

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foilfreak · 3 years

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BEAUTY AND HER BEAST: Chapter 8

WARNING PLZ READ BEFORE CONTINUING: This fic is rated NSFW and contains graphic depictions of things some people may find disturbing or alarming, including, but not limited to: violence, gore, unhealthy family relationships, Oedipus complexes, gratuitous amount of pornographic literature, ableist language, physical, mental, and emotional abuse, etc. If you are someone who does not enjoy fiction with these elements in them, then I suggest you refrain from reading this, because this fic will have all that, and probably a lot more. So, this is your first and final warning to turn around and go somewhere else if stuff like this just isn't your vibe, because from this point forward, your emotional wellbeing is in your own hands, and I will not be accepting blame if you disregarded my warnings and ended up reading something you didn't like. Idk why I feel compelled to write one of these despite this being Resident Evil fanfic, but I figured I'd cover my ass just in case.

(AO3 Link Below:)

Several days had passed since Salvatore had sought out both his younger sisters, requesting items like jewelry or clothing they’d be willing to part with that Salvatore could gift to Nadine, as a sort of soft and informal introduction to ease the young woman’s mind and prove he meant her no harm.

The plan seems to be going rather well, as far as Salvatore can tell. Nadine found the gifts he’d laid out for her rather easily, and even correctly wondered if the person who lived here had left them for her purposefully. She seemed wary of the items for a time, though she seemed pretty wary of everything in the reservoir at the moment, but eventually she deemed them safe enough to accept, throwing the long white nightgown Salvatore had procured from Donna over her petit azure frame, and strapping the delicate golden locket Alcina had graciously donated around her neck.

Salvatore practically drooled when he first saw Nadine, slightly sheer satin nightgown flowing elegantly in the gentle afternoon breeze and golden chain glittering beautifully against her white speckled, ocean blue skin. She looked like a goddess, a true figure of pure ethereal power and beauty. Even the biting cold of winter wasn’t enough to touch the young woman, shielded and protected by her own glowing radiance.

Despite looking every bit like an other-worldly deity worthy of unending human devotion and worship, Nadine’s face held nothing but fear, anxiety, and loneliness as she aimlessly wandered the seemingly empty docks and windmills surrounding the reservior’s watery interior. An occasional dejected “hello?” still echoes out throughout the reservoir every few hours, growing less and less hopeful with each passing round of silence Salvatore spends hiding away from view.

The disfigured man’s heart twists and stabs in pain every time he cowers away from Nadine’s soft, anxious calls, desperately wanting to comfort the young woman in her moment of confusion and fear, but still so terrified of her inevitable reaction to his appearance that he finds himself unable to do anything but skitter shamefully to his room beneath the surface and try to drown her out with one of his old romance films.

How pitiful.

Salvatore spends much of his time lamenting and pitying himself over his soul crushing loneliness and his intense desire for a love of his own, and yet here he is, taking refuge in an old romance film while he hides himself away from the real woman he could be making his own romance film with, were he not a massive coward and a horrific freak of nature unworthy of anyone’s love and affection, of course. What a cruel irony it is, to have the one thing you want, more than anything else in the world, dangled just inches in front of your face, and yet knowing, before you’ve even tried, that it’ll never be yours.

Salvatore knows that no matter how much of a romance story this whole situation might seem like, Nadine will never be able to love him in the way the gorgeous women in the movies love their tall, dashing, dark-haired lover men. Not only was Salvatore the exact opposite of tall and dashing by literally everyone’s standards, but his patches of dry, greasy dark-hair did little to salvage the violent wreckage that was Salvatore’s whole appearance.

There was absolutely no way Nadine would ever be able to love someone as hideous as Salvatore, so perhaps the best thing to do would be to contact Miranda and inform her that, while he greatly enjoyed his gift, Salvatore didn’t feel he would be able to appreciate her in the way she deserved to be appreciated in all her beauty and wonder, and that perhaps it would be better for Mother Miranda to find better arrangements for her elsewhere.

“I-it’s for the b-best… i-i think… a-after all… Nadine… d-doesn’t want t-to live i-in a d-dingy place… l-like this for… for the r-rest of h-her… l-life… m-much less with… w-with someone l-like me… s-she’d hate th-that… im c-certain” Salvatore laments aloud, dipping his head downward as tears of painful realization and sorrowful acceptance pour down his face like waterfalls of lonely depression, already fully set on contacting Mother Miranda as soon as morning came.

“While it's very kind of you to keep my best interest in mind, I do think I am more than capable of making my own decisions regarding what’s the best place for me, thank you very much” a soft voice responded suddenly, causing Salvatore’s head to whip in the direction the sound was coming from in startled shock. “This place is a little rundown, sure, but the windmills still stand tall and the water is always just the right temperature, so I don’t think this would be the worst place to live, if I had to… so long as I wasn’t alone, at least.”

Even in the dimly lit area located at the end of the hallway, Nadine still looked so gorgeously stunning and elegant. It was incredible how she managed to sound so casual and yet look so ethereal.

In the brief moment before his panic set in, Salvatore couldn’t help but pause and marvel at the spot down the hall where the young woman stood, her gaze locked directly onto him and yet she showed no signs of having seen him. She even went as far as to begin moving about behind the large boards that blocked her from entering the room, clearly trying to get a better look at the room and, more importantly, the person she suspects is in it.

After a surprisingly large jump that launched Nadine all the way up to the ceiling, just narrowly avoiding hitting her head, Salvatore’s eyes grew wide and his mouth hung open in stupefied shock as the sight of Nadine, moving the way she was at the end of the hallway, brought to Salvatore’s mind a scene from one of his favorite romance films. In the particular scene Salvatore is thinking of, the actress’ character is an aspiring prima ballerina, and she’s having a brief moment of bonding with her fellow ballerina’s after a long, but successful performance. Dressed in a nightgown not too unlike the one Nadine is currently wearing, the ballerina is showing the others how to do other kinds of dance, like polka or Irish step dancing, but by the end of the scene the group of ballerinas are all merely jumping about the room excitedly, laughing and cheering while carelessly throwing themselves into the air, only to land gracefully back on their feet.

While not exactly the same obviously, the resemblance between Nadine and the absolutely stunning ballerina in the movie, in both silhouette and style of movement, was almost uncanny.

Stretched out as high as her short legs would allow, strong and gorgeously defined muscles flexed almost instinctually with every rapid twist, curl, bend, and jump of the young woman’s tiny body. Her lucious silhouette was only aided by the feminine aura of the long, sheer nightgown as it trailed after her with every movement. The delicate satin material caresses the sharp ridges of her muscular back and shoulders with the same tenderness and love as it does the weight of her breasts or the pillowy layer of protection atop her midsection. The lower half of the nightgown, cinched just below the breasts, twisted and jerked in whatever direction was necessary to keep up with the speed at which Nadine was fluttering and jumping about upon the tips of her toes. Her legs were hidden by the ferocious speed of her movements, but Salvatore did not need to see her legs to have some idea of what they were, or perhaps merely could be, capable of.

Whether or not Nadine was actually a ballerina herself, or if Salvatore’s delusions were merely that realistic now, the young woman appeared to move with nothing but effortless grace that hides the raw power and physical strength it takes to float as carelessly and as quickly as the young woman was, clearly growing more and more frustrated the longer her search failed to reveal what she was looking for.

Still paralyzed by the sudden presence of Nadine in his personal space, Salvatore could do nothing but hold his breath and hope that the light at the end of the hall didn’t reach far enough to reveal his presence in the room. The TV was still on, but the movie playing on it had finished running long ago, meaning the only thing being displayed now was a static filled screen that proved someone had been here at some point in time, but thankfully wasn’t a dead giveaway from the start.

“Helloooooooo… I heard someone talking on my way in, so I know that someone is down here. Please… just come out, ok… I won’t hurt you… honestly” the raven haired woman begs softly, her movements slowing a bit to allow more of her air to be used for speaking rather than jumping to look over beams over and over again.

Salvatore’s heart ached at Nadine’s desperate tone, knowing all too well what the mutant woman is going through right now, but trying his best to remain strong, since giving in means dooming this perfect young specimen to a life of bitter misery and unending terror, regardless of the best effort he’d try to put in. Whatever short term gain Nadine could get from being with him would only come back to bleed her dry once Salvatore was sufficiently attached, and therefore unable to allow her to leave once she inevitably decides that she’s had enough of pretending to love a disgusting freak of nature.

Salvatore had never been very good at accurately predicting the outcomes of situations, but he knew for certain that Nadine was in no way deserving of the hellish punishment that living in the reservoir with him would undoubtedly become, if it didn’t start out that way from the beginning, that is. Perhaps the young woman could convince herself to accept her situation and play into his affections as a means of survival for a short time, but based on what he’s heard of Nadine thus far, Salvatore doubts such a strongwilled and dangerous woman would allow herself to play wife and sex slave to anyone for very long. If she didn’t somehow successfully murder him in his sleep within the first 48 hours of her “slavery”, it would only be a matter of time before she finally ran out of patience and unleashed... whatever the hell it was she did back in the labs, upon him.

For a brief moment, Salvatore entertains the question of whether Nadine could potentially be strong enough to take him out with a single hit, as well as whether that thought should be something he finds arousing or not. His thoughts are quickly interrupted however, by the sound of shuffling and grunting, and upon turning his head toward the sudden racket, Salvatore is horrified to see Nadine, just small enough to fit her tiny body between the thin cracks of the boarded up wall, attempting to climb through the barrier, and enter the TV room.

Body shaking and voice beginning to tremble slightly, alongside his already labored breathing, Salvatore unsteadily backed his way further into the room, putting his hands out in front of him as if to try and stop Nadine from entering, though he makes no move to physically eject the invading woman himself, oddly enough.

“N-nooo… p-please… don’t come i-in...” Salvatore stutters helplessly, shrinking further in on himself in fear as the young woman effortlessly slips through the wooden boards like a slippery eel, quickly and easily landing on her feet before turning back to the mostly darkened room.

“H-Hello?” Nadine calls out again nervously, taking a tentative step forward, both hands extended outward beside her until her left hand made contact with the wall. Gaining some purchase on the vertical slabs of wood, Nadine slowly turns her head to look about the room, carefully inspecting everything from atop the surface of Salvatore’s messy desk, to the very dark corner in the back right of the room that Salvatore himself was currently shoved as far into as physically possible.

Nadine stuck her arm out in front of her and began slowly walking toward the opposite wall, eyes open, but unfocused, and right hand waving aimlessly in the air for a brief moment, as though trying to feel around for the other wall despite it clearly being right in front of her. The hooded man had no idea how she hadn’t seen him yet, he could practically feel how absolutely ridiculous he looked, his bony, weathered, turtle-esque body hunched as low to the ground as possible with his chin tucked between his knees and hands covering the rest of his face, leaving only the smallest bit of space through which he could observe Nadine’s inevitable reaction to him. And yet, despite the amount of time the young woman spent glancing over Salvatore, back and forth across the room, her bright golden eyes resembling that of a ravenous alligator in their intensity and ferociousness, no scream left her plush lips nor did fear and horror suddenly mar her supple face. In fact, not only had the mutant woman not seen him yet, but it was in that exact moment that the reason why Nadine couldn’t see Salvatore, obviously shoved into the corner, just to her bottom left, became immediately clear to him.

“Y-You’re blind...”

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chisinpink · 3 years

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The Only One: A Mastermind!Nagito AU Story - PROLOGUE

Hello lovelies, I’ve posted a *lot* about my Mastermind!Nagito AU on tiktok (I’m @chisben there as well if you wanna check it out), and I rly wanna share it here so here’s the prologue! Special thanks to @servanthaji for helping out with the planning of this whole story in general!

(Content warning for mentions of bombs and bombings, swearing and crying.)

☘️

JUNKO: Yep, that’s the day that it happened. The day everything started getting… pretty scary, if you ask me! I’m just glad you were outta town for that, and baby was home sick. That’s, like, the only reason she’s here today, too!

HAJIME: Wait, wait, slow down! What are you even talking about…?

JUNKO: Uhh, I’m getting to that? Besides, don’t you know that guy too? Nagito Komaeda?

HAJIME: Not really… I mean, I knew of him, but I was in the reserve course. I didn’t really talk to him or anything until I went to school that Monday, and… there was nobody there except him.

JUNKO: Oh, yea? Did he tell you anything?

HAJIME: Not really. After I got shot at and ran in the school, I asked him what the hell was going on, but it was like I wasn’t there either. He just changed the subject to hope over and over again, like I asked a totally different question, and eventually I just walked away. I still don’t know what he was doing there.

JUNKO: Then maybe he doesn’t want you to know, y’know? You’re so lucky you have me, then~!

(She smirks playfully. Hajime stares at her blankly and her face drops. She stares at a map with a pen in hand.)

JUNKO: Come ooon, I’m coping! This is pretty stressful for everyone, y’know, I use humor to forget about all this stupid shit.

HAJIME: Whatever… just… tell me what’s going on.

JUNKO: Well, what happened that day… that was the start of The Biggest, Most Awful, Most Tragic Event in Human History… in my opinion. And that’s saying a lot, because this world is filled with despair! And, like, his whole class helped him do what he did to the country! No idea why that is, but we can all fill you in on the rest, I guess. Preeeety sure we were all there in some way, ‘cept my baby.

(She gestures to the entirety of Class 78 of Hopes Peak Academy, standing and sitting in the basement of the school, as well as Mikan Tsumiki, who has a timid smile on her face as Junko looks back at her. Hajimes face drops.)

HAJIME: Wh… what?? That can’t be it, that can’t be what happened…! The whole class?? The whole country?!

JUNKO: Eeeyup! They evacuated the school by putting a bomb under their teachers desk, and apparently all around the school, and I have NO idea how that lady didn’t croak! Anyways, everyone had to leave, and… that’s basically all I know. They just repeated that ooover and ooover on the news, it made me sick!!

(She threw her pen at a tiny radio propped up on a few cardboard boxes.)

HAJIME: Wh… this doesn’t… but… but, I...

(Kyoko steps forward and faces Hajime.)

KYOKO: I have some more information on what happened that day. After we were trapped here in the basement, all we had was the radio to inform us of the true nature of what happened. This is what I wrote down from those broadcasts.

(She hands Hajime a folder that contains three sheets of paper, all three of them hand-written notes. He begins reading.)

KYOKO: The class of 77-B was, most likely, all apparently under some sort of drug-induced psychosis. Most witnesses reported that they were acting strangely or out of character before they planted the bombs, and their eyes were hazy and…

HAJIME: ”swirled”, “mixed”, “terrifying”, “comforting”, “light and dark” ...none of these make any sense.

KYOKO: My thoughts exactly. This entire event is bizarre and without any logical reasoning behind it… if you’d only heard about it on the news. But I think Makoto and I know more than any news outlets.

HAJIME: How?

(She looks over her shoulder to Makoto, signaling him to stand up.)

MAKOTO: Well, about a month ago me and Kyoko were going to one of the computer rooms to print something, but it was kind of out of the way, so we didn’t expect him to be there. N-Nagito, I mean. We saw him talking to Chihiro, and, uhm… I didn’t hear that part.

(He looks up to Chihiro. They stand meekly and fold their arms.)

CHIHIRO: H-he had been asking me to collaborate with him on a personal project, but… I didn’t have any spare time, and I didn’t even know him that well! So I finally just told him no, and he left me alone for a day or two… but t-then…

(Tears form at the corners of their eyes.)

CHIHIRO: H-he told me that… he was gonna… destroy the sc-sc-school if I didn’t-!

(They cover their face, and Makoto reaches out to rub their shoulder.)

MAKOTO: It’s not your fault, Chihiro. It’s nobody's fault but his. B-but anyway, after we heard about that, we decided that we had to keep an eye on him, but… basically the next day is when the bombs went off.

HAJIME: Why didn’t you just… tell a teacher what he told Chihiro?

MAKOTO: In hindsight… yeah, that would’ve been the safest thing we could’ve done. But Kyoko thought that we couldn’t keep an eye on him if he was expelled for that, a-and he could have been doing anything at home, so we fo-

KYOKO: Makoto, please, don’t. I was a coward, and I didn’t trust anybody else to investigate the matter. This whole situation could have been de-escalated dramatically if I had told school faculty.

(Kiyotaka stands from his spot next to Mondo.)

TAKA: You DIDN’T inform a teacher, or the Headmaster?! Miss Kirigiri, the school faculty always knows what is best for us!!

MONDO: Yeaaaah, is that why they all jumped ship and fucked off to who-knows-where so we could fight like dogs in the basement?

AOI: Hey, they did what they could, okay?? They had to protect themselves like everyone else! We’re not any better by hiding in the basement.

MONDO: Where the fuck ELSE were we supposed to go?? Candy land?!

YASUHIRO: Hey hey hey, Chihiro was right to lead us here the day the bombs went off! But I hear ya, maybe we coulda moved out of Japan together or somethin’ instead of hiding in Japan!

TOKO: I-I see why you’ve had to retake this year as m-much as you did now, you dumbass! He could b-be expanding anywhere now!!

BYAKUYA: As much as I hate to agree with her, I do. Nowhere is truly safe, and for all we may know, we’re being actively searched for. It’s only a matter of time before we have to relocate.

SAYAKA: I-I can’t stay here another second!!

CELESTIA: Oh, so do you two suggest that we run out into the streets and expose ourselves to the predators? Play Nagitos game of cat and mouse?

LEON: Hell NO, I’m not playing that freaks game! But if he’s got his little possie out there looking every which way for us, then we gotta at least try and delay it!

SAKURA: On the other hand, we don’t know what they might want from us, if anything, or how bad the situation has escalated since we decided to hide.

HIFUMI: We don’t even KNOW what’s out there w-waiting for us anymore?! There could be giant mutant spiders wanting to turn us into baby food by now! I’m staying right HERE.

YASUHIRO: ...okay, I’m officially lost. Are we moving or staying?

SAYAKA: Moving!!

BYAKUYA: If you all intend on surviving, then you’ll all relocate. If you intend on being brutally murdered, then by all means, feel free to stay for a bit longer.

LEON: What in the actual fuck is wrong with you??

MAKOTO: H-hey, everybody calm down!!

SAKURA: We cannot make a decision until we know more about the outside world. AOI: But isn’t it because of what we don’t know that we have to go out there by now?

SAYAKA: Maybe some of us could go and some of us could stay?

TOKO: W-what if that reveals the hiding spot f-f-for everybody else??

MIKAN: (wiping away tears and hiccupping) N-nooo!!

YASUHIRO: Then we all have to come to the same decision, then.

CELESTIA: Yes, good luck reaching a peaceful consensus during the middle of an apocalypse!

BYAKUYA: I never said that it had to be a peaceful decision. If needed, you will all follow me kicking and screaming so I don’t perish thanks to your idiocy.

MONDO: I’ll knock some idiocy into ya if you keep runnin’ your mouth like that!

TAKA: Remember to take deep stomach breaths, bro! I think we can all solve this by utilizing a popular vote!

HIFUMI: But wouldn’t whoever’s the most popular win anyway??

HAJIME: SHUT UP!!! EVERYONE JUST SHUT UP!!!

(Everyone stops talking and stares at Hajime, who’s trembling and has his face in his hands.)

JUNKO: Daaaaaaamn, rookie’s kinda bold to be screaming at us like that, huh?

MAKOTO: Junko… you’re not helping. He’s obviously overwhelmed and you’re just teasing him.

JUNKO: C’mon, I’m nowhere near him! Hahah!

(Makoto sighs, sitting down next to Hajime on the floor. The rest of the students talk amongst themselves.)

MAKOTO: ...I’m sorry. I know you didn’t ask to be here, but… for what it’s worth, I’m glad that you’re still alive somehow.

HAJIME: …

MAKOTO: You know… when Mukuro found you unconscious in that class, we all thought you were one of Nagitos’ friends. You seemed too peaceful in your sleep to have been running from anybody, or hiding from anything.

HAJIME: ...then why did you help me?

KYOKO: We thought we could get some information about the outside world. But apparently, you're just as lost as the rest of us.

MAKOTO: A-and because we didn’t want to leave anything to chance. Even if you were one of his people, we didn’t want you to just be out there. I’m glad that you weren’t, though… it feels nice to meet someone new again.

(Hajime lifts his face from his hands, palms and face covered in tears. He looks at Makoto with a faint smile.)

HAJIME: Yeah… feels nice.

☘️ TO BE CONTINUED☘️

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sidesandsanders · 5 years

Text

Vampire AU For No Goddamn Reason At All

Nobody asked for it but here it is. Basically all of our boys are vampires and they live in a castle in the modern age. This species of vamp has retractable fangs, and their eyes glow under moments of extreme emotion, hunger, or strenuous use of their powers.

Logan: The Vampire Lord

- The oldest of the bunch, as in “he was a teenager when the bubonic plague was still a threat” old. Turned all of the other members of House Sanders. He keeps track of finances, utilities, making sure the public suspects nothing, practical stuff like that. He makes a living primarily online.

- Roman convinced him that any respectable Master Vampire must have a fancy and intimidating space to occupy, so Logan’s office has a throne instead of a desk chair, and an ornate but practical desk.

- He’s got a huge personal library in the castle. I’m talking mint-condition first editions of books that went out of print decades ago. He has a signed copy of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, as well as countless psychology, biology, and medical textbooks.

- His powers include mind manipulation, but nobody is sure if he has more that he’s hiding.

- His eyes glow a dark indigo blue with flecks of silver when he’s hungry.

- He has three sets of fangs, his top and bottom canines, as well as a smaller set located directly behind the top canine fangs.

Roman: The Victorian Prince

- Turned in the age of grand ballroom parties and red wine, and refuses to give that lifestyle up. Don’t get me wrong, he accepts and adores modern technology and ideas, but he also adores the aesthetics and poetic romanticism of his original era.

- Pretty much every piece of furniture he owns is velvet. Velvet canopy curtains on his bed, velvet upholstery on every single couch, chair, and chaise lounge in his room. Silk sheets though, a prince must have standards after all!

- He throws lavish romanticism era styled parties, and has a habit of inviting everyone he knows the name of. He loves to show off, and having parties in the castle’s ballroom is the most fun way to do so. He has a pet deahhound named Juliet, who looks like an oversized, all black husky dog. She is the (second) star of the show at his parties.

- He can enthrall people, and while he doesn’t do it to strangers, but he has been known to use his powers to make his partners enjoy being bitten. There is a running joke in the family to compare him to an incubus.

- When he’s hungry, his irises glow red, but his pupils turn shiny gold.

- He has the standard top only canine fangs, perfectly white and sharp.

Patton: The Wayward Nurse

- He met Logan during the witch trials. As a medic with a green thumb, he got mistaken for a witch. Logan offered him a place in the castle, and Patton accepted. He grows herbs and flowers, along with a tiny grove of fruit trees, on the castle grounds. There are coconuts growing in his greenhouse year-round, since coconut milk is a half-decent blood substitute and he’d rather his family not hurt anyone.

- Some of the money coming into the household is from him selling herbal remedies, tea mixes, and foodstuffs to the locals. He has been known to give discounts if you bring your dog with you, and he always tries to pet them, even if they don’t exactly take well to his otherworldly aura.

- He practically lives in the garden and greenhouse, but he also has a very pastel and out-of-place seeming room in the castle. Every single item in that room is designed for maximum comfort and maximum coziness. If it is not fluffy, he’s not interested.

- He can heal other vampires in his bloodline, but not outsiders or humans.

- His eyes gloss over and turn silvery-blue all over when he’s hungry. They don’t glow but they are crazy reflective.

- Despite having the smallest fangs of the bunch, just a pair of extra sharp canines, he puts the most effort into hiding them.

Virgil: The Runaway

- The youngest resident of House Sanders, he was turned in the mid 2000’s after running away from home, and is still adjusting to immortal life. He uses his powers, various gadgets, and anything else he can get his hands on to keep outsiders away from the castle. He’s security, basically.

- Despite being the newest to the world of the fallen, he’s the one who most throws himself into the vampire lifestyle. While Roman emulates the classic victorian vampire aesthetic, Virgil is 100% living the vamp life. He got ahold of a coffin the size of a king bed, one made for couples who want to be buried together. He replaced the lining with a mattress and bedding and that’s where he sleeps now. He also spends a ridiculous amount of time in and around graveyards.

- He’s also has a bunch of “creepy” pets. Two bats named Ebony and Gerard, a pink-toed tarantula named Malice, and an orange and black speckled newt named Calcifer.

- On the opposite end of the spectrum to Roman, Virgil’s powers give him the ability to make people fear him. Very useful for getting people to leave him (and the rest of the castle) alone.

- His eyes glow deep purple when he’s hungry, and they have a subtle bioluminescence even when he’s not.

- He has defined fangs on his top and bottom canines.

Deceit: The Outcast

- An animal hybrid vampire, a snake, naturally. The second oldest, he was cast out by his birth family when he was a preteen, once his parents saw the scales growing in. He keeps to himself for the most part, occasionally taking part in Roman’s parties, if only to amuse himself by confusing the guests. Logan has made it clear to the other residents that he is staying in the castle, and is to be treated as equal.

- Every time someone outside the family asks his name or story, they get a different answer. The baker was told his name was Riley and he was Logan’s cousin. The florist was told his name was Dimitri, and he was Roman’s handmaiden. The head priest was told that his name was Damien, and he had come to corrupt the souls of the townsfolk.

- Absolutely fascinated by stories in all forms. He didn’t learn to read until much later in life, and he witnessed the birth of movies and video as art mediums, so he has a certain appreciation for all forms of storytelling. Live theatre has a special place in his heart though, as it was the first form of storytelling he ever experienced.

- He possesses the unique ability to transform himself entirely into a snake, as well as a mild form of hypnotic ability.

- When he’s hungry, his left eye glows a striking neon yellow, while his right eye turns into a hollow black void.

- His fangs mimic those of a viper. Long, needle-like points trailing out from behind his canines.

Remus: The Disgraced Duke

- Turned shortly after Patton. Was tossed out of the royal family of a small country because the people could not handle the idea of him being in any position of power, so for his parents it was either toss him out with the bathwater or risk a revolution. He just sort of...wandered around until he got to the castle, and nobody could figure out how to get him to leave, so now he’s just there.

- He spends most of his time pestering the other members of the home, pigging out on everything in the kitchen, trying his best to hook up with Roman’s poor unsuspecting party guests, or playing pranks on random townsfolk. He’s responsible for the local legend about a mutant octopus in the sewer. It’s just him flapping his tentacle arms about.

- He has a pet, but it’s not technically domesticated. He caught a strange little octopus/squid/crustacean creature a long time ago, and it’s miraculously not dead yet! (Patton turned it in secret, he was scared of what Remus would do if it died and he got sad). It’s name is Hentai.

- His powers are the ability to manifest tentacles, and cause humans to hallucinate, but the latter requires a lot of concentration and effort so he tends to use other methods to freak people out.

- His eyes glow and shift between a sickly swamp green and a fluorescent lime green, both colors shot through with flecks of black.

- His fangs are jarring, an entire set of sharp teeth that slide out over his “normal” teeth. He looks like a shark. They fall out and grow back pretty regularly.

#sanders sides #ts roman #roman sanders #logan sanders #ts logan #ts patton #patton sanders #ts virgil #virgil sanders #ts deceit #deceit sanders #ts remus #remus sanders #vampire #vampire au #ask me about my sinful headcanons for these boys #vamp au

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at-the-exd-of-everythixg · 4 years

Note

][All questions for otp meme for Sal + Mahogany][

@blind-mutant

Coffee shop AU: Who is the barista, and who frequents the coffee shop?

Sal doesn't think any barista, no, any human, can possibly be that tall. Yet Mahogany towers over him and Sal is definitely intimidated by their smile, like Mahogany is still getting used to doing it without showing so many teeth. It would be super unsettling if Sal wasn't used to the whole "world is filled with freaks" thing so he just simply beams back when he hits starbucks at three am and tries to ignore the shaking in his fingers.

Mahogany seems fit to ignore it too and they're just happy that Sal calls them by their preferred pronouns. The little sweet but odd smelling thing is just concerned with the amount of whip cream he gets in his drink. They love to hear the funny nosies Sal makes when he sits and sips an incredibly sweet drink that makes their nose wrinkle in distaste. Everything about Sal is little and sweet and Mahogany never fails to tell that to a choked Sal.

Highschool/College AU: Who is the straight-A student, and who’s the backrow slacker?

Mahogany studies hard. They know that they must if they were to take over Gra's business of bee keeping. Everything is important for that job and not a speech impediment or learning/eating disorders can stop them. They owe Gra everything for taking care of them when Moder died and all of the siblings and cousins don't seem to help their stress. The only thing that really relieves them is their gymnastics class, which they share with the class slacker, Sal Estrellas.

Yeah, Sal knows his future is important, blah blah. His dad is an astronomer, his mum is- was an an astronaut and Mal himself is working off somewhere researching possible life expansions on other planets. Big whoop. Sal doesn't seemingly care about thay, better be the failure and do what he's good at; being pretty. Sadly, that's when the oversized nerd gets hired to be some sort of tutor for him by the school and now Sal is stuck with a undone noodle trying to teach him algebra while Sal flirts widly and tries to convince Mahogany to do some....fun things instead.

Rivals to loves AU: Who takes their rivalry seriously, and who is half in it just to push the other’s buttons?

Sal hates Magni. Hates their stupid face with the way they grin ans leap to try and catch him during his dance practices. Everyone else thinks it's so funny, but when Mahogany is the one on stage and twirling about while laughing? Apparently that's what gets the cash rolling in lately. All because they're a better dish for all the monster fuckers rather than Sal.

But they don't understand why he's so upset. Mahogany just likes to see how pretty their star is on the stage and to try and be as good as he is. Mahogany doesn't quite understand why he scowls so much when they meet eyes but Bex just tells them not to worry and that they're doing so good by not eating anyone. Mahogany wants to be good for her, for Sal. So obviously one of these days they need to try and see what would finally make Sal smile and smell sweet at them. Maybe if they follow and eat a man for him?

Enemies to lovers AU: Which one switches sides?

Its terrifying. To be trapped in a crazed town full of weirdos in a cult. They're not natural people either. They're all gangly and lack colour, not to mention the fact that some of them can turn into monsters. Does this mean that Sal will be turned into a monster too? He doesn't want to turn into a monster. At least, not more of a monster than he already is.

But it's hard when Mahogany is so sweet. Sweeter than anyone Sal has met and that's horrible. He doesn't want to fall for their crooning or petty face when Mahogany gives Sal sweet things or telling him how much he's wanted and adored. He doesn't want to be something else but Sal finds it harder to fight back against the idea of being happy and a family aa the day goes on.

Soulmate AU: Who is eager to meet their soulmate? Who absolutely does not want to meet their soulmate?

Sal can't stand soulmates. And with good reason. His own father had forgotten whatever soulmate he had in favour for his mother and that didn't stick together. Soulmates were bullshit and his very existence was proof of that. After all, what alien would have a soulmate? Apparently a 6'9 norse monster who had been waiting to meet their other half of hearts.

So yeah. Sal heard a crunching noise one night and when checking it out, came face to blood coated face of his supposedly other half. Cue the screaming and Sal passing out, only to wake up in his place with Mahogany crouching over him and affectionately smiling. Cue more screaming from Sal while Mahogany is already thinking up ways to impress their new and oh so little mate!

Single parent AU: Which one is the single parent? (Alt. if they’re both single parents: Which one is open to starting a new relationship from the start? Which one is never planning on finding love again… Until they meet the other and are instantly smitten?)

Mahogany loves Skye. Their little baby is sweet as anything with eyes as pretty as the- well, Sky! Except Skye seems to enjoy wandering off a lot and Mahogany often needs to chace after said sweet but bratty baby. It gets even worse when Skye runs into a bright club, drawn in by the pretty lights mixture of human smells within. It causes them quite the panic when they see a tiny human yelping and standing back as Skye paws at him.

They save their baby easy enough, but now Skye has gotten quite attached to the sparkly man and she doesn't want Alpha to eat spar'kly and they want to sit around and look at the prettiness that is Sal, who is...awkwardly charmed by the little pale brat...and less charmed by the giant pale brat who has a wagging tail and doesn't seem to care about the filthy fliers he comes out with. Ugh. It seems he just adopted two new cats....or maybe a new beau and a baby? God that's even worse.

Doctor AU: Which one is the longsuffering doctor? Which one is the patient?

Sal and Mahogany attend the same therapist and often sit next to each other in the waiting room. Mahogany is there to talk about their loss of Gra and their eating disorders along with issues containing the blackouts they suffer. Mahogany is very interested in the little man that spends half if his time texting or bobbing his head to music. He's cute.

Sal definitely notices it too. His shrink says that he tends to sabotage all relationships with people he likes, not to mention no longer purposely derailing his health as a form of self harm. His shrink says that maybe he needs to try and form more friendly relationships with one of his other patients, someone who knows what a similar thing Sal's going through? It would be tough work but Mahogany is more than happy to know the little man if that means he'll get to know them too.

Its risky, but Mahogany and Sal want to try and make a friendship work and for the most part it's rather easy...if it weren't for the fact that Mahogany is VERY tall and fit...Sal drools over the time he was lifted by one hand from Magni.

Bodyguard AU: Who is the bodyguard? Who are they protecting? Which one is secretly pining for the other?

Mahogany...doesn't think much of their new bodyguard to be honest. Sal is short and he doesn't look that strong...but obviously something works because Old Alpha hired him and Mahogany knows that she wouldn't do it if she didn't know that Sal would really protect them. Sal, at least, seems more than ready to do what he needs to in order to ensure that his charge is safe.

But fuck its almost painful to rush after Mahogany. They're a gangly noodle and its more often than not Sal is rushing to keep up with their stupid long legs and worse, their stupid mouth that grins and flirts happily. Their flirting is so awful though and technically it's part of his job to make sure they stay safe by not using said flirts....and that Sal can teach better ones, right??

Pirate AU: Who is the pirate? Who is the member of the royal family who did not sign up for this?

No one would miss a pretty little royal, that's what Sal tells himself at least. He remembers the feeling of a crown on his head. Mahogany would certainly be happier on a ship, with their freedom and cute pants and shirts. Really, when he kidnap them, Sal is absolutely sure that this is the right choice. He hated being a prince and it's a thrill to have someone so strong and tall on the ship with him. Especially when Mahogany let's Sal clamber all over them.

Mahogany loves it just as much. They love the sudden freedom and they regret leaving their home, leaving Gra to take care of everything now that the heir of the kingdom is gone. But Sal is so sweet and he always insists on their freedom...how could they ever think about going back at times? And if they run into a blue charming pirate or a pretty pale prince? Well, Mahogany and Sal always want to spread the idea of their freedom about!

Childhood best friends AU: Which one was super obviously in love with the other the whole time? Who was oblivious until they were older?

Sal was smitten by Mahogany as a kid. They looked like a prince or a princess in one of the soteybooks. They're sweet and they don't mind playing rough, even if Sal's dad worries a lot with the amount of scratches and bites that Mahogany leaves on him. The visits carry on to Mahogany's Town long before Sal suddenly disappears and Sal's dad never talks about him again, only muttering cold and cruel things that Mahogany doesn't quite understand.

But now as an adult, Mahogany is alone and they have caught their Sal's scent. He was their mate long before any of them realised and its certainly something when they shift and start taking off to look for their little mate. Just a shame that Sal wasn't warned in the middle of a late night fuck with his latest scam....well, at least they were serious when Mahogany said they would give Sal their heart?

#ask #blind-mutant #the living stardust (Sal)#the monster of forgotten midnights (Mahogany)#headcanon #sksks this felt weird to write for my own kids but this was fun!!!

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thecorteztwins · 4 years

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Imagine steampunk au

Ok, so this took me a while because I wanted to think on it, and come up with something that really emphasized the “punk” aspect, since that’s what really comes through with writing whereas the “steam” part tends to be more visual/aesthetic (the clothes, the gears, etc). The “punk” part in steampunk, cyberpunk,biopunk, etc. is about revolutions and fighting back against corrupt systems and the ugliness of our society reflected in these fictional societies.So I looked at what Spain was up to while the Victorian Era (the usual setting for steampunk works) was going on in England, and found out there were a few revolutions going on to depose Queen Isabella. I decided that similiar revolutions will be going on in this fictionalized steampunk Spain, but much more bloody, like the famous French revolution, and against the entire aristocracy, not just against the Queen. The Cortezes, being part of this aristocracy, are initially against the revolt, of course, but they both end up coming around to it. For Anne Marie, it’s because she ends up seeing the conditions that the common man is forced to live in compared to the decadence of the upper class. For Fabian, it’s because he sees the tides are turning, and he wants to be on the winning side.Thus, Fabian not only turns on other nobles, he becomes a beloved leader in the revolution, using his betrayal of the other aristocrats as proof of his devotion to the people. However, he becomes a tyrannical dictator in his own right, and the rebellion ends up deciding to execute him as well. But he is saved at the last moment by Anne Marie and two other rebels, Chrome and Delgado.So that covers the “punk” political aspect, and from there we shift to fantasy and exploration through a series of adventures and mysteries, many of which have a theme of things not being as they seem. The crew travels across the European continent and beyond, sometimes turning to piracy to survive, sometimes acting as heroes, always being disasters!- They absolutely rob a swanky beautiful Hellfire Club airship over Britain. Fabian gets his ass kicked/thrown out a window by Sebastian Shaw, while Chrome and Emma engage in the bitch-off of the century.- The Savage Land. Just the Savage Land. It’s right out of an Hg Wells/Doyle novel, it doesn’t need anything changed.- Inspired loosely by The Hound of the Baskervilles, they come to a tiny Scottish town where people are being torn to pieces every full moon. The local Reverend Craig, a hellfire-and-brimstone preacher, claims that each and every “victim” was in fact a sinner, and that this is punishment sent by God. When the werewolf strikes next, it’s against none other than the crew—specifically against Fabian, which is absurd as he’s no sinner!– the crew strikes back and tracks it down. It turns out that it’s a local girl, Rahne Sinclair, the ward of Reverend Craig itself, and it is revealed that Craig was using her as a weapon to destroy those he saw as unholy. - A freak storm crashes the ship in the snowy Himalayas, and it seems certain that they will die of cold…until a BIG FRIENDLY DOG appears and whisks them away to The Lost City of Attilan, a place vastly advanced in its technology and with bizarre customs….a place the currently is embroiled in a revolution, a coup led by Prince Maximus Boltagon against his brother and the rest of the Royal Family to overturn the cruel caste system and other such practices. Naturally, the crew allies with him, given their own background as rebels, but they soon discover…right idea, wrong guy! - They definitely go to America, where the Wild West is going on in the country, the 1920s in the cities. Cattlepunk and decopunk ftw! And they take a little detour to the Florida Everglades, where there’s legends of a certain snake-woman lurking in the swamps…- In London, they encounter Toad as a sort of Quasimodo, with Magneto as his Frollo (when he first appeared in the comics, Toad really wasn’t that toad-like, more of a hopping hunchback, and Magneto was horribly abusive to him while claiming to have saved him, much as he was to the Maximoffs)- Dragoness as “The False Harpy” and Milan as “The Babbage Man” who gave her her wings. In the comics, Dragoness is a member of the MLF (Mutant Liberation Front), a Brotherhood-like organization. She can shoot bio-electric blasts, but her wings are actually mechanical, not biological. Francisco Milan was one of Fabian’s Acolytes, and was a gentle technopath that was far less vicious and cruel than most of the others, being more interested in his machines than anything else. So I’m seeing this version as having created Dragoness/the Harpy’s wings simply for the challenge, not realizing she’d use them for crime. Charles Babbage was the creator of the first mechanical computer, and I’ve seen “babbages” used to mean early computers in steampunk fiction, hence why he’d be called “The Babbage Man” in a steampunk version.- In the Eastern European country of Transia, they go to plunder Wundagore Castle, an abandoned fortress said by villagers to be inhabited by terrible monsters that are half-man, half-beast. There indeed turns out to be ANIMAL MEN LIVING IN THE CASTLE but they are not monsters at all…though THE MAN WHO CREATED THEM might be! (Many steampunk works contain mutated monsters and science gone wrong)- Still in Transia, they come across a village that is terrified of two outcasts, Romani twins they deem The Scarlet Witch and The Silver Thief. They are said to have supernatural powers granted to them by the Devil himself; the Witch uses hers to cause disaster and ill-fortune with hexes, the Thief to steal using impossible speed. The crew investigates, and finds that Wanda and Pietro, the real names of the duo, do indeed have these powers, but are not to blame for the crimes the villagers accuse them of. Pietro does not steal. Instead, the real thieves in the village wait for when he runs by, and pick the pockets of the other townspeople while they gawk and point at the blurr going by. Wanda indeed does cause disaster, but her power activates on accident, and only when she is threatened. All the times she has made something bad happened, she was being menaced by the villagers.The villagers, however, will not see reason and continue to persecute the twins, so the crew takes them with them in the airship on their journey. They come to Germany, where they encounter another mystery—a series of murders, murders of children. They realize the murders line up with whenever a circus is in town, and investigate it. It is run by a Romani woman, Margali Szardos, and her children—Stefan, Jimaine, and Kurt. Kurt performs as “The Incredible Nightcrawler” and it is assumed by audiences that he is merely in costume. However, the crew find out that this is indeed his true appearance, and Margali confesses he is her foster child, found by her floating in a river like Moses. The clues begin to point to Kurt, but it turns out that the murderer is Stefan, who has begun to practice the black arts. A showdown ensues in which Kurt is forced to kill Stefan. Kurt is going to flee in shame for what he has done to his own family, but is convinced by Wanda to stay, so that his mother does not lose BOTH sons. Wanda and Pietro end up staying in the circus with him as well.…that last one ended up being more about Kurt and the Maximoffs but I’m keeping it in this because I like it.

#steampunk #awkward-snake-girl

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grimmjowkurosakidrake · 5 years

Text

Mutant

I'm going through one of the worsts writer's blocks in my young life, I'm also rediscovering my forgotten love for sasusaku so I've decided to write some drabbles for the Lovetoknow "is this just fantasy" list.

Word two: mutant

This is sort of an X-Men au but with less crime fighting and more inner prejudice overcoming.

...

Sasuke still can't believe he got married to a woman who could punch him through a wall and then heal him just to break his bones again later.

Sometimes he thinks about the unfairness of her having two mutations, like she wasn't plenty special already, but he has never thought of her as anything less than a warrior and a healer. A strong woman with an even stronger heart. He could only ever picture her while she was protecting and taking care of the people she loves.

That's the girl he fell in love with, the only woman he could feel love for. That love he learnt to appreciate and take in stride as a beautiful thing only she could gift him.

It's been days since the evening he stood in front of the girl, now a woman, who would chase him around their little village because "You're special, Sasuke-kun just like Ino and I".

It's been days since he placed a ring on her finger as he stuttered his vows like the awkward moron he has always been, before kissing her on front of the people he used to avoid in fear of being recognised as anything less than normal.

Because Naruto Uzumaki could clone himself and that wasn't normal, because the Hyuuga cousins had weird blank, pupiless eyes that could see through everything and they were freaks, because creppy Shikamaru Nara walked around the village alongside dancing shadows that he could control, because Ino Yamanaka was danger to society that could get inside people's heads like a parasite.

Because Sakura Haruno could shatter the very earth from beneath her feet with a punch of her tiny, little fists.

Because Sasuke Uchiha should hide the fire burning in his lungs. Should ignore the searing sensation screaming from under the skin and pretend he's normal. Because he is normal.

He used to believe that no one would ever know about the things that made him an anomaly of nature. That he could make his family proud and go on with his life as if he wasn't monster.

But it was only a matter of time before everyone knew of his deviation from humanity.

The first to know about him was Naruto. Having seen him in the lake near his house burning the water with the fire that he usually left to sleep, deep within his chest. He called him friend, then. An equal.

Sasuke used to feel safe with the knowledge that only Naruto knew about his secret. The blond was a loud person by nature but a loyal friend all the same.

Until the idiot told Sakura.

The little pink haired freak who liked to heal children's wounds in parks with the green, warm aura that sometimes emanated from her hands. The silly, little girl who insisted on healing any small scrap he ever got because "I hate seeing you hurt, Sasuke-kun. I can help, please let me help."

He hated Sakura, he was repulsed of her and her dirty genetics. Hated her because his father hated mutants with passion, because his mother always told him to be careful around dangerous people like Kakashi Hatake who could create lighting in his hands or Yamato who could grow trees with just his will.

Hated her, like he hated Uchiha Itachi. His big brother who one day showed him bloody red eyes that trapped him in scary illusions and a horrible imaginary world. And then, just as if his entire existence was a well crafted fantasy he created, he was gone the morning after.

Sasuke never saw him again.

It was easy to hate Itachi, his brother wasn't there for him when he needed him the most, and that was enough to tarnish his memory. But Sakura was hard to hate (hard no to love). It was hard to hate the girl who asked him to melt her marshmallows because “I like them warm, Sasuke-Kun.”

It was impossible to hate the girl who opened marmalade jars for him with a smirk dancing on her lips as if he couldn't do it himself.

Eventually Sasuke started giving in on his impulses to lean onto her warm, healing touch as she took care of him, of kissing the top of her weird, pink head and inhaling the sweet smell of her perfume. He started giving in on his wishes of taking her petite hand in his own and on the impulse to embrace her waist as they walked the distance between her house, Naruto's small apartment and the school.

Eventually he found out about how Hyuuga Hinata was a really sweet girl, with precious emotions and a shy smile always directed at Naruto's back. He realized that Nara was just a weird ass sloth who would love nothing more than to stare at the clouds for hours if he could.

He discovered that Yamato and his protegé Sai didn't have last names because they were lucky they had names to begin with. Because sometimes humans were the real monsters.

He found that the Yamanaka girl loved flowers and spending time with her girlfriends more than anything. That Hatake Kakashi was the best teacher anyone could wish for, if only, he would get to class on time.

He found a kindred spirit on silent, traditional Neji Hyuuga. Found a soulmate in loud competitive Naruto Uzumaki. Found love in weird, mutant Haruno Sakura.

Eventually he graduated, left his parents; left his hate and her fears. Bought a little house with deep red walls that reminded him of the dresses she used to wear on her childhood and a grand fireplace just to ask her if she would do him the honor of telling him to lit it every night for her.

It's been days since Haruno Sakura became Uchiha Sakura.

And Sasuke still can't quite believe she choose to marry a freak like him.

#sasusaku #sakura uchiha #sakura haruno #sasuke uchiha #fanfiction #drabble #mutant au #is this just fantasy list #Sasusaku fic

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numbur129 · 5 years

Text

Hey there boys, girls, mutants, martians, monsters, monkeys who've advanced to shaving their body's, and occasionally smoking a cigar. And lastly, but not leastly (And it's funny, cuz they are short nd stupid!!) "The self proclaimed most magical of the freaked-up-fuck-faces Tour" MIDGETS MAC DADDY & DA GooooBLER!!! "LETS FUCKING HEAR IT FOR EM!!!" KABOOM!! "Hahaha.... Yeahhh!"

(A random selection of what most would call, "lame-ass" fire works began hissing, zooming away, popping off. Squealing guitar licks echoed off into the distances, whilst confetti fell freely from out the top the menacing skyscrapers above, and then quickly down to the bottom of an "overly-polished, brilliantly made elf-lookin boots of the pointed toe end persuasion", as if the fuck-add purposely looked like some strange mix between a gay leprechaun, and a violently-intoxicated pimp.

And like,honestly, twas abit obvious thuh'olde "Sun Bleached Tur'blumken" whood seent far from eh'z "D'eh-BuhstahhDazes." Though the tiny, little person was dressed impeccably, and had quite thee odd shape T'emm!?. He'd constantly be fucking smirkn to those around him, as if too stupid to realize he was way too flippin deep in, and had ta show off for just a wee bit longer. Then'd be recorded into the record books, for reasons I dont know of. One the weird-fuckers front golden teeths gleamed as the sudden change of lighting bent around his bulbous head. In one, overwhelmingly "gay", awkward, and un-planned, mess'ughz "jig" dance. He land atop his ol single knee, whilst simultaneously tipping his "stupid-fucking" hat, and puffing his dirty, drug crusted, wooden "J00B" brand, "Dooble-Tube!" He let out a uncomfortable giggle of sorts (as if in pain, perhaps out of breathe, or even just a series of grumbles, and tis burr'bn), then horked up a nice, fur-fuckled looger carelessly onto the nights then carpet covered dance floor. Then leaned back into a "hero like stance", then stood motionless, twisting the end of the other side dove-izz long white stache!

For reasons unknown to the me; "The Author" of said spoken story, has somehow unintentionally, spent the last 45 minutes of this on some weird-oh, nd his unbreakable-focus-like trance on this creepy, little old dude. And decide that, shit was now to change up, move round, and really start "fuckn about". Ta really get a sense of what it's like to initiate sex with an neighbors dog; as well as what it is to get right back inta that, Good ol Gangsta Bap. Sha- "Sell that, Flip this! Kill Cops, work tricks" shits f'all-the bitchasses, and the wheelchair trapped tard-asses egh-duhhh Werld! Suh grab glasses, and do a doo'ler, and t'all-duh too, every one-uh "Little Dee, 'N Uh-Stinky-Dink's" multiple MILLION-DALLOR-DEAL!!! MUH-FUKN, READY-KNO, THATS-FLIPPN-RIGHT, RAVING Fans. And once again, done a doodle dang-diddle-dooper. And has fucked the faces ugh many men, women, and other freak of nature wheww dont do it; "Fuck'd my baby's face!" LP, and the all too well known remix, "Uncle Daddy's Creepy Play Pen & The Funkie-Unkie Petting Zoo Bananzah!" Thaz right! Yall heard theh shit hear firsd, y'unn-grateful, dustiedup, dunger-dooz & dunger-duntz!!

So any-fucking-ways, "The fuck it is?!" Lol, word. Shit man... this past, ummm.. started after morning appointment, so 8am to.. what's its about to be? 3:38am?! Holy Mother of a Holy Father?! Darr't, darr't!! Haha, yeah! Honestly, that wasnt all that bad. Gotta say...

But I've recently come to the conclusion that I've really got to work on being a more truthful, helpful, and as knowledgeable a person inside-ugh-muh friend groups, as to the outside stranger. And all the caring family's, and other random gathering meat, bone, and the occasional positive "kitty-poster", frum time-duh, time!!

Word. To be honest, I've really got to just not fuckn lie to myself. Put myself down, really wanta start them out with those few first lil changes, choices, and ultimately improvements towards bettering the life around me, that I want. And tah make meaningful advancements in my current personal recovery program. Z'well as workn on, and becoming a completely content, productive member of the community we lives in. To work daily, towards a fulfilling place of residence; stabal positioning within the buisness feild of choice, and the hard-earn'd respect of others I'd goften to know, and eventually wholeheartedly, "really cared for" people, nd one day; maybe sooner then way, way muh'Fukhn away. And some day will actually be able to like the person I had fought to became.

A promise; To better my overall health; both physically, mentally, at someday in the future, "OMEGA-SPIRIT ENERGY VF."

Ughnd juz-wanna hangle out, and really getta Blubber-Vuk; not to those whom Weiner iz-ugh wigglin. But to the proud, and brave. The few, the reasonable.. "They"MAKE, AND STAY ugh-WIGGLIN THE WEENURD, AND NOTHING BUT THAT THERE WEEN!!!

...Hey, yeah it's really me. Lol, sorry bout that. If it was far from your norm; and this kinda just, HAPPENED TO YOU. Lol, seriously though. I've been working, writing currently. In my newest addition to my many ways of approach: I've started experimenting with "stream of conciousness" writing. Where you record your minds thoughts, and without any choice, second thought, er really anything other then the ability to open flood gates. I allow my mind to organically grow ideas, thoughts, things, and then let them out on there own and watch the streams mix, flood, destroy. Play with one another, create a new, and in the end; am left with.. ugh? Sheesh, who's really knows, ya know? Kinda attribute this overall vibe, strange choice of dream like situations, and the incorporation of weird-oh, "Alien-like" Pseudo-Town Drunkard. And really, if you havent noticed the influence yet, lol, maybe it's nothing alike. But would just like to shout out one of my all time favorite books, "Naked Lunch", and honestly, just kinda wanna leave this ever so strange complement here with it, "I love you. So dream-like. Surreal, yet disturbingly diffrent. Mr. William S. Burroughs: You really, truly are... a stranger lost within a strange land."

❤The Bizarre... & "BEYOND!"❤

☮❤😄☮❤😄☮❤😄

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monaisme · 3 years

Text

Day 3: imprisonment

Wanda stood in the corner of her cell, dressed in grey sweatpants and a grey t-shirt, and stared glumly at the vibranium bars separating her from Peter, who stood closer to his tiny window, dressed in grey sweatpants and a grey t-shirt, and looking just as glum.

The both chose to ignore the obvious recording equipment pointing into both of their cells.

“You know,” Peter stepped closer to the divide. “We’re never going to hear the end of this, right?” Peter groaned as he leaned over to fuss with the vibranium shackles securing his ankles.

Wanda cocked her head, confused, and moved to sit on the meager cot secured to the wall. “We’ve mounted rescues for the other Avengers before. Why would ours be a problem?”

“C’mon, Wanda, seriously? Think about it. The two youngest team members captured on what is supposed to be a basic ‘grab n’ go’ mission.” He rolled his eyes in frustration and paced up and down the length of the bars, choosing to ignore the clatter of the chains against the floor. “Ugh! And Clint is going to be the worst! For real! You use a fraction to tell someone how old you are ONE TIME and suddenly it’s all about being the baby of the family!”

Wanda couldn’t help but giggle softly at Peter’s tirade and then added her own spin, “Well, if you are talking about Clint, I doubt I’ll hear about age.”

It was Peter’s turn to wait for an explanation. “Clint likes to tease me about my ‘magic fingers,’ and I’m sure there will be no end to it once he gets here and gets us out.” She gave a little finger wiggle for effect, then flinched as the collar she had been outfitted with gave her another zap. She whispered an, “Ow,” and the two superheroes quieted, choosing to lie down on their respective cots; plotting and waiting.

There was no way to tell how much time had passed, but eventually Peter broke the silence. “Wanda?” He turned his head to look at her. “Can I ask you a question—and you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to but, well...”

Wanda continued staring at the ceiling. “You can ask me anything, Peter. You know this.”

If she had paid him any actual attention, she’d have seen his face redden when he finally asked, “Are you okay?”

Wanda finally turned to face him. “Am I okay?”

Peter sat back up again, obviously building up the courage to ask what he really wanted to ask. “I mean, I know that you’re not ‘okay’ okay, ‘cuz we’re here and all, but you’re acting not yourself and sort of mellow and um...”

She saw the blush now.

“You were, uh, you were alone with them for a while when they were doing the... you know,” he waved a hand, gesturing to her collar and his bonds. “I guess I just want to make sure they didn’t do anything worse, ‘cuz you know I wouldn’t be okay with that, not that anyone would be, I’d hope but if they did...” He jerked his feet apart, hoping that this would be the moment that links would shatter.

They didn’t.

And then Wanda understood that she wasn’t seeing a youthful embarrassment in his colouring. No. She was witnessing the righteous anger of Spider-Man—and she was grateful.

“I am fine, Peter.” She smiled in appreciation, and then smirked as she explained. “I was not as cooperative as they would have hoped when I was being outfitted with my new necklace.” She tapped the collar for effect.

Peter visibly deflated in front of her. “Oh. Thank goodness. I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask... and I wasn’t there to help keep you safe.”

Wanda sat up again, mirroring his position on her cot. “We were both dealing with our own challenges, correct?”

Peter nodded, silently acknowledging the bruises she couldn’t see.

“So then we accept that if we could have helped, we would have. Peter. You know you are not to blame for this, yes?”

He stared blankly at her.

She understood. “Then we will work on that later.” And she laid back down on her cot.

Peter did the same.

Another stretch passed. “Wanda?”

“Yes, Peter?”

“You never did explain what’s going on. It’s like you’re sad or something.”

She thought for a moment and then, “I am simply reminded of my time spent with Strucker... and my brother, Pietro.”

“Oh.” Peter looked around the gloomy cell. Even the harshness of the fluorescent lights in the hallway along the front of their cells and the tiny window couldn’t chase away the awfulness of the place. “That must have sucked.”

She shrugged. “It wasn’t so bad. Pietro was with me and one can get through almost anything when you’re with family.”

Peter’s thoughts turned to his Aunt May... and Uncle Ben—an awful mix of gratitude and melancholy welled up inside him. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

And time stretched on again.

There was no natural light coming from the outside when the only door at the end of their hallway was thrown open. A man that both Peter and Wanda recognized from their time being stripped of all things superhero came through with a second man that neither of them recognized.

“You two, stand up, NOW!” the one known to them barked. “Step away from the front of the cell and turn to face the wall.”

Neither of them moved to listen.

“Do it, now.” The man growled low now.

Peter was the first to voice it. “And how do we know you’re not gonna shoot us in the back when we do?”

“If you think I’d show you mercy, then you’re an idiot. I’d sooner watch freaks like you bleed out like the vermin you are then not. Now, for the last time, get to the back of the cell and face the wall.”

Peter and Wanda shared a quick glance and then followed the directive, tensing in anticipation of a bullet to the back.

He spoke again, “Listen up, mutants. I am going to approach the bars now. You will not move. You will not scratch your asses. You will not sneeze. If you do, my friend here will shoot—but he won’t shoot you. Nope. He’ll shoot your buddy, so if really do like each other, I’d suggest being good little freaks and then we’ll get outta your hair.”

They both refrained from flinching when they heard the cocking of the gun.

Shortly after, both Peter and Wanda could hear the sound of something scraping along the floor and then hard steps away from the bars.

“Good doggies. You may turn around now.”

They did.

“So you can learn. Good to know.” He gazed upon his two captives with disgust. “Going forward, if you hear that door open, you assume that position. If you don’t, you die. Got it?”

Neither of them answered, both keeping an eye on the man with the gun.

“Also,” he pointed to the cameras, “We are watching you. We are listening to you. There will be no plotting. There will be no escape attempts. You cannot work simultaneously, so if you do escape, the other will die.” The man looked pointedly between the two of them and leered at the two of them. “It’s my idea of a buddy system, ya’ got it?”

They remained silent.

“I’m going to guess that you understand what I’ve said, and if you haven’t, well, I guess we’ll figure that out soon enough, won’t we?”

The man went to leave, tapping the man with the gun on the arm, “C’mon, Boris, let’s leave these folks to it.” Boris turned and exited first, and then the leader.

And Peter and Wanda could finally take a deep breath.

“Wow. Dude was a little on the intense side, if you ask me,” Peter quipped as he tried to shake off the lingering fear that he was about to get a bullet to the back.

Wanda agreed. “I imagine he’s into some pretty high stakes stuff if he’s got two imprisoned Avengers hanging around.” She thought about it for a second. “If you think about it, I’m surprised we have not been moved yet.” She was onto something, she thought. “I don’t think we’re more than a few hours outside of New York. There must be something going on.”

The theory absolutely warranted further examination, but that could wait, if Wanda had asked Peter.

They’d delivered food.

Each cell had a thin paper plate carrying exactly one sandwich (two slices of white bread and one slice of processed American cheese, dry) and six apple slices. It was accompanied by a full, disposable water bottle.

For Peter, it was manna from heaven. He practically threw himself at the plate, his stomach crying for something to satiate the hunger. His fingers brushed against the slightly stale bread, he moved to put it in his hand, and then—

“Stop!”

Peter couldn’t contain the look of incredulity on his face. “What?! Why?”

“It could be drugged or worse! We have to be cautious!” She looked around the cell, trying to come up with a test or anything from thin air. All of the Avengers knew about Peter’s appetite, and she’d been fortunate the Peter was too polite to complain, but she couldn’t allow him to suffer. A thought came to her mind, “Peter! What is your spider sense telling you right now?!”

He looked around the cell and then looked at her like she’d sprouted a second head. “Um, it’s been going off since before we got here, Wanda, ya’ know, because we’ve been kidnapped!?”

“Oh.” Wanda visibly deflated.

Peter closed his eyes and drew in a big, centering breath. “I’m sorry, Wanda. I think the fluorescent lights are causing a headache and I’m tired. It’s not fair that I take it out on you.” He looked down at the meal still sitting on the floor and, with his foot, nudged it under the bars and back into the hall. “But you owe me the biggest pizza when we’re out of here—and you can’t put any of your weird stuff on it! Deal?”

She nudged her plate out, too. “Deal” She thought for a second. “But artichokes aren’t weird.”

Peter laughed and gestured to the sink and seatless toilet bowl built into the wall of each of the cells. “At least we won’t dehydrate, right?”

She took the offering for what it was and nodded, “Right.”

Time passed, maybe an hour, but they couldn’t be sure. The door at the end of the hallway opened and Wanda and Peter rushed to their positions against the back wall.

“I’m impressed. Such good little freaks.” His steps stopped short. “What’s this? Are you too good for what we provide for you?” The rustling of clothing and soft grunt told them that he’d leaned down and picked up one of the plates. “Well, our chef will be disappointed that his cuisine was not up to snuff for you.” And then the sound of loud, exaggerated chewing. “Too bad.” He spoke as he chewed. “He used the good cheese today.”

Peter and Wanda stood stock still as more sounds came from behind. He’d collected everything, continued snacking, and then spoke. “If you’re not gonna eat it, I’m not gonna bring it. It’s bad enough that we’ve got you here. We don’t need fruit flies, too.”

The door opened and the leader stepped out.

Neither moved.

Wanda was horrified. “Peter.”

Peter kept his eyes on the wall, pulling himself together. “It’s okay, Wanda. I promise,” he choked out. “Just no artichokes and we’ll call it good.”

Wanda nodded and watched as Peter moved from the wall and lay down on his cot facing the wall.

“No artichokes, Peter, I promise.”

* * * * * *

Hours passed.

And Wanda crossed fingers that Peter hadn’t fallen asleep, so she called to him, “Peter? Are you awake?”

The fluorescent lights burned brighter than anything found in nature, making sleep almost impossible. Peter turned to face the room. “With a light like that, how can anyone be anything other than awake?”

She chuckled and then grew serious. “Please know that I am so sorry, Peter. When Pietro and I were first with Strucker, he would drug our food, take us from our cells... perform experiments on us. It was...” she paused to pull herself together. “It was a difficult time to get through.” She flashed on the memory, briefly, “It has apparently stuck with me after all this time.”

“Wanda, I promise you. It’s alright.” He shifted a bit, trying to get comfortable in a place meant for anything but. “To be fair, you’d think I’d be used to the whole kidnapping and captivity thing by now. Heck, with my Parker luck, I’d have absolutely been drugged at some point.”

Her brow furrowed. “Parker luck?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s totally a thing!” His eyes grew bright. “I should tell you about the time my Uncle Ben got stuck out on the fire escape in his underwear in the middle of January—while May’s book club was in the living room!”

So Peter spent the next however long sharing stories; until Wanda opened up and starting sharing tales of her own—most of them about her brother. And most of those about his many, MANY dating adventures.

“... and when he came home, he had to explain to our house-mother why he looked like he had soiled himself and had a handprint on each cheek!”

Peter grinned. “Man, it must have been great to grow up with a brother.” He grew wistful. “I think I’ve wanted a sibling forever, but then my parents died and May and Ben hadn’t planned on having any kids anyways, but then Ben... well, Ben was gone so it was always just me.”

Wanda stared off sadly for a moment. “We were together for everything, and depending on the day, he was a blessing or a bane. But he was Pietro.”

No one spoke for a while; each lost in thought.

“Mr. Stark once told me ‘family is where you find it,’” He smiled wistfully, “and he was right.”

“Why don’t we try to rest before the sun comes up?” Wanda softly suggested. “Even with this infernal light on, we should be able to rest a little before the sun comes up.”

Peter didn’t respond, simply smiled and closed his eyes.

* * * * * *

It seemed that they both managed to catch some sleep, in the end, because they were both startled awake by a banging on the door at the end of the hallway.

“Rise and shine, monsters!” The leader hollered, “We need to have a little conversation about prisoner etiquette before we start the day.”

Wanda and Peter could barely glance at each other before they stationed themselves against the back wall.

“It seems,” he began, “that some mutants think that this is a summer camp and that night time is for sharing silly stories and painting fingernails.” He tapped something metal against the bars. “I am here to tell you that you will not be doing that again. My man here is not paid enough to listen to two poor orphans go down memory lane about some dead relatives.” He tapped the bars again and spit onto the floor. “No more. Going forward, you are not allowed to speak to each other. Failure to follow the rules will result in consequences.”

The leader stood there for another minute, maybe two.

It felt like forever for the two captives.

“I am hopeful that this arrangement will only be for another day or two. You were an unexpected boon and we had to contact some folks. Our buyer should arrive by then and we’ll all go on our merry ways.” The man laughed. “Well, I will.”

He dragged his fingers along the bars as he exited the hallway. The door opened and then closed.

Peter and Wanda turned to face each other, Peter opening his mouth to speak. Wanda pressed a finger to her lip and shook her head desperately.

And Peter caught himself. Instead, he looked around the room, walked to the bars, and dropped down to the floor, sitting cross-legged. He waited for Wanda to follow suit.

“B-A-D-H-O-U-S-E-K-E-E-P-E-R,” Peter spelled in the dust on the floor when she finally joined him, then looked at Wanda and giving his eyebrows a playful wiggle.

“B-U-Y-E-R-?” She wrote back in reply.

Peter wiped away his first words, then wrote, “W-H-E-N-D-O-Y-O-U-T-H-I-N-K-O-U-R-G-U-Y-S-W-I-L-L-G-E-T-H-E-R-E?”

Wanda thought before answering, wiped away her own first words then answered, “S-O-O-N-I-H-O-P-E-C-L-I-N-T-I-M-P-A-T-I-E-N-T-!”

Peter read the words smiled, and nodded in agreement.

Neither of them had anything else to say after that

* * * * * *

The difficulty with not being able to speak was that there was nothing to distract from the awful sounds Peter’s stomach made it when it was empty.

Wanda winced in sympathy and reached through the bars to hold his hand in support. He gave a slight squeeze in appreciation and kept hold.

* * * * * *

Peter eventually gave up Wanda’s hand in order to curl his arms around his painfully empty stomach. Yes, the team joked about the bottomless pit that was Peter Parker, but he knew he didn’t have much longer before the nausea, dizziness and weakness became obvious. They’d been taken during an early morning breakfast run for the gang, and he hadn’t eaten since earlier the night before that. It was already too long, but he couldn’t allow himself to be a burden.

Wanda mindlessly played with the curls at the nape of his neck through the bars.

And Peter visualized what it would be like for his stomach to grow teeth and devour him whole.

* * * * * *

Wanda would give his hair a little tug and mime drinking every so often, reminding Peter that they at least had to drink some water.

“That’s right,” he thought to himself, “At least we won’t be dehydrated.” He had joked.

Yeah, it wasn’t so funny now. In fact, he was really starting to hate water.

She tugged his hair, so he looked to her. He could see the discomfort on her face and so he asked the silent question. She nodded a yes and Peter got up, moved to the farthest corner and turned away from her half of their little set up to give her some privacy.

And then she did the same.

Yup. Peter really hated water.

When both were done, they returned to their little spot on the floor beside each other, and silently promised to the other that this would never, ever be spoken of.

* * * * * *

The sun had fallen again.

It had now been two full days since Peter had eaten and Wanda was worried. He pretended, but she could see him swaying and staggering as he’d move to the sink to drink and all of that other ‘stuff’.

She’d given him a little shove and pointed toward the cot across the room. “G-O-R-E-S-T-!” she scrawled in the dust.

He’d squinted, like he couldn’t quite grasp what she’s said, and then he did. “N-O-T-L-E-A-V-I-N-G-Y-O-U-A-L-O-N-E,” he replied, and that was the end of it.

* * * * * *

Wanda was dozing, leaned against the bars, head to head with Peter, who had either fallen asleep or passed out some time ago. She wasn’t sure.

Honestly, she was starting to feel pretty shaky herself. This was on her head though, and she would suffer the consequences without complaint.

And then the building shook.

She took in the cells, as if it would give a clue as to what was going on—but nothing.

“Peter,” she whispered. If where they were being held was under attack, then whispering didn’t seem so unforgivable.

He didn’t move.

She moved so she could grasp his shoulder, gave it a vigorous shake. “Peter! Wake up! Something’s happening!” She hissed louder.

He mumbled something unintelligible and swung his head up to see what had disturbed his unconsciousness. “Wha? Wanda?” He was confused. “Do I need to face tha’ wall?”

“No,” she shook him again, hoping he’d pull himself together. “I think our rescue party is here!”

That woke Peter up. “They’re here?!” He slurred and struggled to stand. His feet couldn’t quite keep him up. The shackles were feeling particularly weighted just then.

“Well, I hope it’s them!” She replied, “Or we’re in more trouble than anyone had anticipated.”

The glass of the small window shattered, and an arrow flew through the air, imbedding in the concrete floor of Wanda’s cell.

She smiled as she moved to retrieve it. “Clint!” She shouted out in relief. Her fingers fumbled with the small box attached to the shaft. Finally able to manage it, she pulled out one of Natasha’s lock picking sets and got to work on her cell door. Never had she been so grateful for those lessons.

Once freed, Wanda hurried to Peter’s cell door and made quick work of it. Peter watched from the floor, where he’d eventually resigned himself to stay until he could find the strength. She rushed to him, and quickly removed the shackles on his feet, “Peter, can you stand?”

He blinked, unsure if he was really seeing what he was seeing. “Are we getting outta here?”

“We are,” she started tugging at him, trying to get him to stand. “But we need to move!”

Peter tried. He did, but once most of the way up, he listed to the side, barely grabbing at the bars to keep from dead dropping to the floor. “Shit.”

“Peter!” Another explosion rocked the building, and this time concrete dust floated around them. “I think we need to get out of here on our own. You need to help me get you out!” She couldn’t hide the desperation in her voice.

“Too dizzy,” he panted.

“But you’re too heavy! Peter!” She pulled on his arm. “Please try!”

Another boom echoed closer still, accompanied by larger pieces of debris. The adrenaline helped to clear Peter’s head, and with a laser focus, he figured out what they needed to do. He forced himself to sit, leaned against those damned vibranium bars, and stretched his arms forward in beckoning to her, “Quick, c’mere.”

Wanda knelt beside him, confused. “Peter? Please. Wha--?”

She stopped speaking as he reached up, placed his hands inside the collar that shackled the strongest parts of Wanda... and he pulled.

The second the collar tore away from her skin, Wanda’s eyes burned red and she revelled as the power once again freely flowing through her body.

Another blast, most likely inside of the building proper, shook the ground. Wanda needed no prompting to cast a protective shield around her and the now gasping Peter.

He was shaking, weak, and had given the last of his energy to help the cause.

And Wanda would do the rest.

Her powers surged, the red glow cast a strange shadow as she carried the near unconscious Peter through the unoccupied hallways.

Another explosion, and then the sound of shouts—salvation was just ahead.

She turned a corner, expecting more emptiness and an exit, but was met instead by the man who’d been so cruel in his neglect.

He hadn’t been expecting her either, as he raised his gun to shoot.

With a flick of a finger, the gun crumbled to powder and fell to the floor.

Wanda delighted in his fear. “You know, you weren’t very kind to us...” she stepped towards him and then paused for a moment. “You know what? We never found out your name! You are...?” She waited expectantly for an answer.

And none came. He trembled.

“Alright then, maybe my friends will have better luck getting information from you.” The red haze encompassing Peter split in two, and the leader was pulled off of his feet and encased within.

She grinned at her captive. “Don’t worry. It’s harmless, unless something happens to this boy.” She gestured toward Peter, “If he does come to harm because of you...” She starting walking toward the now visible door, dragging them both behind her. “Well, know that I would never, ever forgive someone for harming my new brother.”

@febuwhump

#febuwhump #febuwhump 2021 #Peter & Wanda are BFFs #imprisonment #captivity tw #starvation tw

0 notes

thorne93 · 7 years

Text

No Matter What (Part 1)

Prompt: Imagine you’re an Avenger and you meet Bucky for the first time during Civil War

Word Count: 1861

Warning: Language, fighting, violence, angst

Notes: This will follow Cap America: Civil War…. Thanks to my beta @like-a-bag-of-potatoes

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Sebastian Stan Tag: @nedthegay @lostinspace33 @alwayshave-faith @elleatrixlestrange @buenostardissherlock @lenawiinchester @the-red-world-of-jess-chibi @memory-of-a-goldfish @mellsstark

Steve Rogers: @camigt1999

Bucky Barnes: @nedthegay @lostinspace33 @alwayshave-faith @elleatrixlestrange @ultrarebelheart @lenawiinchester

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Alright. What do you see?” you heard Steve’s voice in your ear.

Steve Rogers, your absolute best friend in the world. Or maybe he was more like a dad? You weren’t sure of your relationship really. All you knew is you owed him your life when he saved you from being gunned down in the streets of Germany. You had a special ability, one that some people didn’t seem to like. You could manifest objects, things, weapons. They came in a light blue, electric looking form around you. The only thing about it was that the object had to be touching you at all times. You couldn’t form a gun and shoot bullets, form a bow and shoot arrows, or form a glider for someone else to jump on.

One day, you had formed a hoverboard and you were gliding through the streets and suddenly armed men came out of the alley and were about to shoot you when Steve and Sam showed up to help you. According to them, Hydra was about to capture you for experimentation or extermination.

That was about a year ago. Prior to that you had lost your parents when you were very young so you bounced around foster homes that never felt like a home. So they saved you and you were eternally grateful. They offered you a job in the Avengers and you never looked back. Not to mention that Steve was hilarious to you, and you took pride in teaching him new references and slang. He was a great mentor to you.

So now, you were in Africa, trying to find Rumlow, the guy who was part of the reason SHIELD was compromised. The bad guy. The guy that your team had thought was dead.

“Standard beat cops, Small station. Quiet street. It's a good target.”

“There's an ATM in the south corner, which means…”

“Cameras?” you answered, unsure. You had the confidence of a fucking rock, but Steve was always encouraging.

You remembered when he had rescued you and they were cleaning you up and making sure you were okay, Steve had said, “How would you like a job where you use your abilities for good?”

“That would be amazing, Mr. Rogers-I mean sir - I mean Captain America--Or...uh, what do I call you?” you asked nervously. You recognized the man who just saved you but that didn’t mean you had a right to call him anything personal.

“Just Steve, is fine, kiddo. So you’re interested in the job?” he asked kindly.

“Well yes but I’m not sure some orphaned mutant is going to be much help to you,” you said with sorrow in your tone. You wanted to help, but what the hell could you have to offer that Black Widow or Iron Man or Hulk Or Thor or any of them couldn’t?

“Kid, I’m 95 years old and all I have is a shield. Don’t let your past or your circumstances define you. Let you define you.”

You had stared at him in awe for a brief moment. No one had ever spoken to you that kindly or given you a pep talk before.

“Look, I know it’s daunting, but we’ll train you. I would never send you into a fight I didn’t think you could handle. So what do you say? Wanna be an Avenger?”

With a giant grin on your face, you had nodded fervently and the rest was history. You joined just a couple weeks after Vision and Wanda and Sam had. Your training was hard and intense but it was so rewarding knowing you were doing it for good and helping people and that no one on the team saw you has a freak. The only issue was you weren’t very confident and you had some anxiety issues. When things got really tough, you had to be grounded a bit. To be reminded that people were depending on you and that you couldn’t fuck up.

“Yes,” Steve affirmed and you could almost hear the smile on his handsome face.

“Both cross streets one way.”

“So, compromised escape routes,” Wanda said.

“Means our guy doesn't care about being seen. He isn't afraid to make a mess on the way out. You see that Range Rover halfway up the block?” he asked.

“Yeah, the red one? It's cute,” Wanda commented.

“I’d prefer a Cadi, but yeah what about it?” you questioned.

“It's also bulletproof, which means private security, which means more guns, which means more headaches for somebody. Probably us,” Nat commented.

“You guys know I can move things with my mind, right?” Wanda said with a tiny smirk as you sat across the street on a park bench, pretending to read a newspaper.

“And that I can create shit in the air,” you reminded.

“Doesn’t help us in this case, kid,” Steve responded.

“Yeah, you two need to get used to looking over your shoulder,” Romanoff encouraged.

“Anyone ever tell you you sound a little paranoid?” Sam asked from his spot on top of the building.

“No, not to my face. Why? Did you hear something?”

You grinned at the witty remark before Steve reminded you all to focus up. Steven instructed Sam to tag a garbage truck, and as he was doing that, all of you realized that the truck was a battering ram.

“Go now,” Steve ordered.

“Wait, where?” you asked, befuddled. You were still nervy, a little slow on the reflexes, and anxious when it came to fights.

“He’s not hitting the police. He’s going for IFID. Move!” Steve commanded in a firm voice. You immediately got up and formed a light blue glider so you could move faster through the people. By the time you reached the IFID, the truck had accomplished its purpose as a battering ram and a group of hostiles had invaded.

“Body armor. AR15s. I make 7 hostiles,” Steve informed as he landed on site.

“I make five,” Sam suddenly said through the comms.

You manifested a whip and pulled one guy back by his neck, yanking him to the ground. You heard his head hit and he seemed to be unconscious. “Make that four.”

“Rumlow’s on the third floor,” Sam informed.

Steve nodded to you.

“Just like we practiced,” he said to Wanda to get her to levitate him into the building.

You, on the other hand, were able to conjure up your glider to get you the third floor. You dove inside, a gas mask forming in light blue around your face to protect you. Fighting side by side by Captain America was enthralling. You felt powerful and needed and helpful. You and him had a good strategy, you two worked like a team. Not to say you didn’t work well with the rest of the team, but there was a sort of connection between you two that you just didn’t have with the others.

You used a whip and shield from your powers to protect yourself and Steve and fight people off. By the time you got through them though, Rumlow had taken off with a biological weapon of some kind. Steve informed the others and Natasha said she would take care of it. You and Steve ran out to a balcony to see if you could help but as soon as you stepped out, they launched a missile at both of you. Before you could react, it sent you both soaring back into the building, slamming against a column that made a pain explode in your back.

“Come on!” Steve commanded of you as he scrambled to his feet and held up his shield and began running along the building. You formed your own shield and glider and did your best to keep up with him while they shot even more missiles at you, the final one was a hit, sending you both soaring out of the building. Steve landed on the side of the building several times then finally hit the pavement as you tumbled out, forming a cocoon of energy around you so that the impact hurt less. It wasn’t very effective because everything fucking hurt now.

“Sam, he’s in an AVF heading north,” Steve informed as he tried to get up.

“Are you okay?” you asked as you ran over to him, terrified and worried for him. You had a fiercely loyal and protective nature when it came to Steve, namely because he saved your life in more way than one.

“Yeah, I’m fine Y/N, we gotta go,” he urged. You formed a glider and he began to run. Your glider could only carry your weight so far. Sam informed you that the group was splitting up. Nat had the one on the left while you and Steve looked for Rumlow. His gear was found lying on the ground. Steve informed the rest of you that one of them has the payload and it was a game o find which one.

A second later, something hit Cap’s shield and he had to throw it while it exploded. You were looking for where it came from when a guy walked up and was about to hit Steve in the back.

“Steve, lookout!” you screamed as you tried to form a whip to get him away from Steve.

But you were too slow and Rumlow hit him hard and he toppled over.

“There you are, you son of a bitch. I’ve been waiting for this!” Rumlow said as he went to hit Steve again. You used your whip to pull his arm back. “What the hell?” he asked, eyeing his arm.

“Leave him alone, asshole!” you shouted.

He pulled his arm and it sent you soaring towards him. He picked you up by the throat before Steve slammed a fist in his side, effectively getting him to drop you. You used your whip again to wrap around both his legs and yank him down, but he was bigger than he looked so your strength alone couldn’t pull him down. Instead he just moved his legs, continuing to try and go after Steve, and pulled you with him.

“I’ve had enough of you!” he yelled as he reeled his arm back, a shield came around your face in response, but he hit you so hard it knocked your mind senseless and the shield was dropped. After that, he continued to fight Steve because you couldn’t breathe or move as blood was coming out of your face. By the time you were somewhat coherent, you looked up to see an explosion going off around Rumlow as Wanda tried to keep it intact, to keep the damage just on him. Yet, the power was too much for her to hold and she launched him into the air, next to a building, where civilians were inside. You glanced to her, her face morphing into horror and guilt as Steve looked on in shock, ordering for fire and rescue.

“Wanda,” you said softly but she was focused on the cries of the helpless as she teared up and fell to her knees. You gave her a sad look and ran off to help Steve try to help civilians.

#no matter what #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers fic #bucky barnes #bucky fic

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pendragonfics · 7 years

Text

Father of the Year

Family of the Week: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

Paring: Logan Howlet & Reader

Tags: female reader, reader is Logan’s daughter, Logan is a father, mutant powers, men crying, angst with a happy ending, fluff.

Summary: Logan Howlett is many things. A warrior. A soldier. A man. A mutant. A father. And in all of those roles, he has his duties. And he must protect his daughter, from what he can.

Logan wakes in the night to the smell of fear. He would die for his daughter, ________. So, naturally, he goes to protect her...from herself.

Word Count: 1,762

Posting Date: 2016-06-30

Current Date: 2017-05-28

When most parents find out they are about to become one, they usually cry. Logan Howlett, the amazing Wolverine, a teacher at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters (who even came up with that dumb name?), a tough man, cried. He cried hard, and within the brief window of ten minutes, he had wiped the salty remains from his cheeks, and got on with the day. It's what he got for having a three month stand with the busty redhead from upstate, and it was probably the worst thing he could think of.

Ten years later, and Logan hadn't had any sleep. You tend not to when every second you are living in a nightmare. From the first days his little ________ arrived in a bundle in her bassinet from the agency officials (a couple of men who looked like they had BB guns up their asses), Logan was undoubtedly terrified. Not of the prospect that he would be a terrible father (he would), or that he knew nothing of parenting (true), but that maybe all those lectures Charles "Wheels" Xavier gave about mutant genetics were true.

And his little girl would be something like him.

He watched her grow; from those first steps, first day at school (the kindergarten teacher insisted if he did not leave, he would be forced to call security on him); the first time you brought a friend over, and ended up playing Jenga on carpet until their parent came. All the while, he never really told you much about what you were.

You knew what everyone else was; there was no explanation as to why else Christmas cards arrived from the impressive lecturer Professor Xavier. You knew Ororoe could make any sort of weather happen, and that poor Scott had to always wear glasses because his eyes were so powerful. The students who you'd run into (sneaking in on slow afternoons at your own school to hang out with your father) became the brothers and sisters you'd never had.

Logan liked it. You were sheltered, comfortable, but not too sheltered, and there was nothing wrong. Hell, half the mutants in the world got their genetics unlocked before puberty, and his little girl ... the only thing you'd unlocked had been his liquor cabinet to try Jim Beam and Johnny Walker.

Logan was convinced. You had to be normal; a civilian, genetically human being produced by the most notorious mutant and the most scrumptious fling seventeen years ago.

Until now.

"Dad...!"

Logan sat upright in the bed. It hadn't been a long time since you had called out in the night for him; those days passed when you were nine, and finally managed to stay the night in your own bed through a storm. But, your voice; it didn't sound right. What if it was a nightmare? It could be a nightmare. He'd check in a m-

"Dad, what's happening to me?"

He was at your doorway, breaking through in seconds. A good thing he insisted in living in a small apartment, not the big house Xavier proposed to pay for. But as Logan entered, his breath was held, his nose was catching a scent he hadn't smelt this much of since his last mission, his eyes -

"Dad, what's happening to me?" you repeat.

You hold your hands to your face, seeing them at both angles. From the knuckles of your fists, are three protuberances that Logan has not seen since his trip back in time to funky old 1973. You have claws, just like his own, his natural, mutated claws. Bone claws. And they've torn your duvet and the first breakthrough to the surface has left blood spotted all over, like a poorly executed murder.

His face pales. "_______, baby," he whispers. He still sounds half-asleep, but there's something you notice about him that you catch onto. Fear. Sadness? "It's okay, it's going to be okay."

You sob. "It hurts, Dad. I thought -,"

Logan shakes his head. "You're special - special, ________. It will hurt for the first few times," his eyes are sad, and hands reach for yours. "But that's how it is, baby." His fingers graze your claws, and eyes wide and frightened, you move them from his reach.

"Don't touch me, Dad! I'm - I'm a freak," your whisper sounds like a spooked animal, frightened and hysterical. "I could hurt you."

Hearing those words coming from your mouth, the same mouth he watched learn the alphabet and the names of all the presidents of the united states, an innocent mouth, Logan whimpers. Like a wounded animal. "______, let me help you. It's okay, I've had worse injuries than this. Now, can you retract them?"

You look at your father with a confused air. "Retract? I - I don't," you take a deep breath, and focus on the three bone protuberances that extent from both of your hands. Tears form around your pretty eyes again, "I don't know how."

Slowly, Logan settles himself on the bed. It dips under his weight, and that of the goddamn adamantium inside. Equally as paced, he reaches for his daughter's hands, your hands. They are so small compared to his; he has hands of a fighter, toughened by the years he has spent dedicating his life to his passions and his team, toughened by his existence in a cruel, unforgiving world. Your hands are smooth under his touch; there are no callouses (unless he includes the toughened skin of your fingers from years of guitar practice), no scars and scratches, no marks but a smattering of freckles that decorate like half-formed constellations. The claws are small, too; Logan knows you will grow into them, or them to you, and you will be trained to control them in your everyday life.

"Remember the lake cabin?" he asks you. Carefully, his hands massage around the tips of your knuckles. "The one in Canada I'd take you to every summer holiday."

You tremble, taking a deep breath. "It would still be cold overnight, and we'd fall asleep reading, Dad." you nod. "I miss that place. Why don't we go there anymore?"

"Haven't had enough time, I guess," he replies. "Want to go back this year?"

"Hell yeah," you whisper.

Logan smiles. "There's my girl," he leans forward, and plants a kiss to your forehead. He releases your hands, and places them back on the duvet. "See? No need to panic."

You glance from your father, to your claw-less hands. "They're gone," you breathe. "How - thank you, Dad." A beat passes between the two of you, and then, "How old were you when you got your claws, Dad?" you wonder.

He frowns. It was a long time ago; years and years, that spanned longer than he'd ever recalled in recent time. "I was a young fellow, ______. I couldn't have been much older than fourteen." he replied. Logan didn't like to think about back then, especially back when his brother had been his brother, and he hadn't been drunk on adrenaline and cheap whiskey.

You nod, and gesture to the bed. "Well, I'll have to throw these sheets away ..." you whisper.

He shrugs. "Sheets are sheets. I'll take you out for more in the morning." he promises, and patting your shoulder, Logan rises from the bed. "Take a shower, and feel better, and by the time you get back, it'll be okay. Okay, bub?" he asks you.

"You're the best dad ever," you grin, and rising for your shower, you kiss his cheek. "Thanks for everything, Dad."

Logan nods. "Right back at you, kid," he smirks.

Once you're out of the room, Logan strips the bed, gathering the torn the sheets into a ball and pitches it into the bin by the desk. For a moment, he takes a breath, and turns to the hallway, where the laundry cupboard hoards the spare bedding. From here, he can hear the shower door close in the bathroom down the hall, and the water cascade onto the tiles he needs to re-grout this weekend. Grabbing what he needs, Logan makes it back into your room, and begins making the bed look as good as new.

Upon the end of his job, Logan takes a deep breath. His mind tracks back to your mother, and the way her eyes sparkled just the same as yours do. He thinks of how you're just as stubborn as his brother, even if you don't know it and have only met Uncle Vic three times in the last five years. He thinks of you driving his truck, getting better and better at it, how you're nearly off a provisional licence.

And just like seventeen years ago, when he heard he was a father, when he first held you, tiny in his arms, when he watched you through the glass in the ICU after a bad bout of pneumonia - Logan Howlett cried.

The tears rolled from his eyes like a monsoon out of season, a gutter cluttered with gunk and pouring over the balcony in torrents. He cried until he couldn't breathe, until his head swam. He cried until he heard the water switch off in the shower, and that's when Logan wiped his eyes.

Other times in his life, he'd cried because he lost his freedom to roam. He'd lost his ability to care about roaming around. He felt like he could loose the one thing that meant the world and more to him.

He let himself out from your room, and covering himself in his sheets, Logan's mind raced as why he had broken down into tears like a princess refused a new tiara. He thought maybe it was because he had seen a revulsion in your eyes, at your own body. Or that there was no way to explain to the nosy neighbors about the bloody and torn sheets in next week's trash.

But as much as he wanted to believe they were why he cried, he couldn't quite convince himself.

You see, Logan Howlett, the impressive and terrifying Wolverine, cried for one reason, and one reason only: that you were not like all the other kids in America. That his DNA had ruined your chances at blending in with society. From his bed, Logan heard you settle in to your new sheets, and slowly, as time ticked by after a while, he heard you finally fall asleep.

His mind raced. You were a mutant. His precious daughter. Like him.

And maybe, just maybe, if he could protect you from all the hatred in the world, it would be okay.

>> NEXT CHAPTER

#wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine marvel x reader #wolverine x men #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan x reader #marvel x reader #marvel fanfic #x-men fanfic #chaotic--lovely #pendragonfics #gen/no relationships/underage #Female reader

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kittenwritesstuff · 7 years

Text

You blow my mind

Fandom: Marvel Pairing: Sam Wilson x (mutant)reader Genres: mild angst, fluff Words: 1.925 Summary: Reader, a new addition to the Avengers, trains with Sam. Not yet having full control of her powers, she accidentally aims at Sam, freaking out when she thinks she hurt him. Sam uses that moment to ask her out - requested by Anonymous A/N: First Sam fic, so let me know what you think! :)

Hot. That’s the word you’d use if someone asked you to describe yourself. Not in terms of appearance, though. Your body always felt as if on fever, your temperature usually a bit higher than normal. You couldn’t understand why people complained about feeling cold in winter – you were sweating even in lightest sweaters. And summer… well, summer was hell.

Your parents were worried at first, of course they were. It wasn’t common for a kid to constantly be that heated but every doctor said the same thing – apparently it was your nature, nothing they could do about it, given that the meds did not work.

At first, everyone loved being around you. You were a comforter of sorts, the best hugger when it was chilly, always warm, always welcoming. It changed, however, when you accidentally rubbed your thumb and middle finger together creating a tiny flame. That was when people started avoiding you. They called you a freak, a weirdo, blaming you for something you had no control over.

And so, you shut yourself from others. You’d become distant, not trusting even in the slightest attempt of getting close to you. You didn’t want to get hurt. You didn’t want to hurt anyone by accident. You believed that you were some kind of danger to others, with that unwanted fire inside you, burning you from within.

But first and foremost, you were scared. There was nobody who could teach you, who understood your difference, who offered to explain why you were like that.

You started to feel like you belonged somewhere only when you met Wanda Maximoff, a member of the Avengers.

She found you one day when you were sitting in a park, reading a book. It was a rather chilly spring day, but you felt like scorching so you shrugged off your jacket, using your hand as a fan. You wouldn’t be surprised if a smoke came out of your ears.

Startled when a strange girl came to sit on the other end of the bench, you started to gather your things but she gently stopped by placing her hand over yours. She didn’t pull it away despite how heated your skin was, smiling softly when you looked at her, confused and a bit afraid. What if her intentions were bad? What if she wanted to use you as a some kind of weapon? So many things were happening lately, you wouldn’t be surprised if a mad scientist approached you or, even worst, kidnapped you after learning about your abilities.

But the girl’s eyes were kind and you decided to listen to whatever she got to say. She told you who she was and that there was a team of people with superpowers, using them to protect and save people. She said that they were looking for others with various abilities, which very much resembled you X-Men movies you’d watched some time ago. She wasn’t pushy – she offered you a place among them, giving you time for consideration.

At first, you were conflicted. It just didn’t feel real. Yes, you’ve heard of the Avengers, everyone knew about them but it was too good to believe in. They wanted you to join them? A girl who didn’t know how to even use her powers?

But then, you realized that if they asked you to join, they would be able to train you. And maybe, you’d no longer feel like a freak.

So, few days later, you arrived at the place, to which Wanda gave you an address. It was a huge compound, few cars parked in front of it and you noticed a helicopter landing on the top of the building.

With racing heart and an excitement bubbling in your chest, you pushed the doorbell and smiled nervously when the door opened, revealing a very happy Wanda and none other than Steve Rogers peaking from behind her.

That was how you become an Avenger, gaining friends who understood you.

______

At first you were training with Natasha and Wanda, since Wanda, as well, needed to learn how to fully control her powers. Natasha was a demanding but very patient and supportive trainer, gradually pushing you to try harder and harder until time came for you to start training in pairs with other ‘non-mutant’ recruits.

Wanda was paired up with Steve, you were to practice with Sam Wilson, which made you so nervous you could barely stop yourself from fidgeting.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like Sam. Damn, you adored the guy. He was easy-going, always joking, but serious when you asked for advice or wanted to talk to someone about the problems you had. He never judged, never laughed at whatever silly issues you had and soon, he became one of your closest friends.

However, as the time passed, you discovered that your feelings for him started to change, started to become deeper and once again, you were scared. Wanda was fast to notice your sudden quietness, assuring you that she was there for you. You only asked her to not read your mind, to which she gave you a secretive smile and tossed you a wink. It was obvious that she already knew about your apparently not-so-well-hidden crush. But then again, she was a mind-reader, she usually knew everything before anyone had a chance to open their mouth.

“Morning, ladies!” Sam calls as he walks in the training room, prompting a grin to spread at your face. Natasha greets him with a nod of her head and a smirk.

“Ready, partner?”

“Sure thing, bird-man,” you say teasingly and Sam chuckles airily at the nickname you gave him the first day you’d met him. He won’t ever admit it, but he likes it a lot.

Natasha clear her throat, demanding your attention.

“So, Y/N. I figured we could use Sam’s wings to kinda boost the fire’s range.”

“That’s a great idea, yeah,” you admit and Sam hums with approval from his spot next to you.

“We’re gonna start with those small fire balls to know how far Sam can blow them. Aim at the mannequins, as usual.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sam says politely, taking a few steps back and spreading the wings in his wake, rising up in no time. You focus your gaze on him for a moment, never getting bored by looking as he flies, spinning around and cheering loudly.

Nat clear her throat again and you blink few times, shifting your eyes at her.

“Whenever you’re ready, Y/N. And don’t worry, I’ll be here if something goes wrong.”

“What if I’ll blow this whole place up?”

“Y/N, I am the one training you, are you doubting me?”

“No, of course not!”

“If it was Stark, you’d probably burn something to the ground sooner or later. I got this. You’re doing great, believe me.”

“Al right,” you mutter, a bit bashful after Nat’s words. But they did what they were supposed to – you’re feeling more sure and so you take a position few feet from the mannequin, waiting for Sam to give you green light.

“C’mon, Y/N, light it up!”

“Here is goes, bird-man!” you outstretch one arm, rubbing your fingers together and when you open your palm fully, a ball of fire presents itself. You focus on maintaining its shape.

“In three, two… one!” throwing your hand up, you let the fire ball stay hanging in the air. In next second you feel a blast of wind and the ball aims directly into mannequin’s head.

“Boom! One down!” Sam cheers, flying just above you to high-five you and you giggle, looking at Nat.

“Lengthen the distance, Y/N,” she says, watching you closely and so you back away further, each time sending a fire ball into the air for Sam to shoot it at the mannequin. Soon, Nat suggests to enhance the balls the further you go and quickly enough you have to use both hands to create fire balls big enough to reach the target.

But the important thing is that you’re successful. You’re cooperating with Sam perfectly, much to Natasha’s satisfaction.

“Okay, guys, you keep that up, I need to see how Rogers is doing. I’ll be right back!” she gives you a thumb up and slides out the door, leaving you and Sam alone.

And that very fact makes you tremble slightly.

“You need a break?” Sam asks, apparently noticing you shaking and you curse yourself for not being able to hide it.

“No, we can keep going.”

“Try to make a flame, I’m gonna blow it at that doll.”

“You sure about that?” you quirk your brow up. “It’s a bit risky.”

“Y/N, ‘risky’ is my second name, trust me, it’s gonna be fine.”

“Well, if you want to get burned…” you muse but a smile curls your lips up and Sam grins from above, positioning himself up and behind you.

“In three, two, one…” you call and start a flame, expecting Sam to either extinguish it with too hard puff or successfully blow it at the target.

But none of that happens. Instead, Sam grunts and lands on the floor with a loud thud, causing your breath to catch in your throat and your heart to skyrocket. You close your palm, putting out the flame and run to him, kneeling by his side.

“What did I do?!”

“The flame was kinda too big-“

“Did I burn you?!” you whine, feeling how panic seeps into you. Your hands begin to shake as you try to examine Sam’s chest, but his folded arms prevent it.

“Oh God, I burnt you, didn’t I? You got hurt because of me, right? I knew this was gonna happen, I’m so bad at it! I didn’t mean to, Sam, please tell me you’re okay.”

“I am, Y/N, so stop freaking out,” he says with a small smile and you sigh in relief. “My t-shirt is ruined but Stark will buy me another, and you… there’s no need to panic, darling, I’m fine. By the way, where was your mind back then, huh?”

“Well, elsewhere, I guess. Sorry about that,” you shamefully admit, grimacing when Sam cackles, laying fully on the floor and spreading his arms out. You take a glimpse at the front of his shirt, finding no burnt skin. Luckily.

“Damn, Y/N, I may be on fire when you’re near but don’t make it literal, please.”

“Okay, sure- wait, what?” you frown, thinking that you misheard him but when Sam grins cheekily, a playful twinkle in his eyes you know you heard correctly.

“To say it simply, I like you.”

“Oh, wow,” you pant, sitting on your haunches as a wide, gleeful smile spreads on your lips.

“Dinner tonight?”

“Yeah, sounds great.”

“7 p.m. is good?”

“Very good.”

“It’s a date then, sweetheart.”

“It sure is, bird-man,” you chuckle and Sam joins you, sitting up. You bite your bottom lip as he starts to lean in, your eyes fluttering close. Maybe you should wait until after first date for a kiss, but god knows how much you wanted it to happen.

You can feel Sam’s hot breath fanning over your face and your heart skips a beat, your body filling with anticipation. He’s so close and yet too far, too slow because before your lips meet, a gasp rings and heavy footsteps approach you.

“Oh, come on!” Sam bellows, fast to jump on his feet to escape Nat’s assault.

You can’t help but laugh at how amusing it looks. He should’ve known better than to try to kiss one of Nat’s precious recruits.

#sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #the falcon #the falcon x reader #x reader #reader insert #the avengers #avengersfic #marvel #marvelfic

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kendrixtermina · 7 years

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Cold Hearted Girl Blues

The “Cold Hearted Girl Blues” Anthology, & associated story ideas.

Just to be safe, TRIGGER WARNING for Disturbing Content and unhealthy attitudes that are in no way representative of reality.

Depiction =/= endorsement.

(Final order may vary)

Part A: Avoidant Attachment Style

Indifferent Girl Playlist - “The expression ‘I don’t feel so well’ makes no gramatical sense. It should be ‘I don’t feel so good’, unless you mean to imply that your ability to feel is hampered.”

Cold Hearted Girl Blues - “One Day she won’t love you either.”

Barren Heart - “The hypocricy of writing about things you know nothing about.”

There Was Nothing In Gauf’s Room - “It’s not her fault, either. What you get is what you see. ”

Failure to Manifest - “Sometimes, this situation has her feeling like she doesn’t exist.”

Cold Hearted Girl Gothic - “Just this single, isolated Conciousness.”

LEERE IST EIN PRIVILEG - “#Introvert Pride.”

Dweeb Life - “Ah, the obscure Joys of bein a shut-in”

Heroin Chick - “Involving no actual heroin.”

You're in a laundry room - “There has been a bit of a failure to connect with this world.”

Biology / inertia - “Even her happiest relationship didn’t go over without being compared to a robot at least once. Balancing extreme introversion with a live-in boyfriend.”

Diffusion - “She has no idea what she looks like. It always surprisesher what people say about her.”

Cold Blooded - “It’s a style of communication, apparently.”

Crazy Headphones Girl - “What could he possibly see in her?”

Cold Hearted Girl Erotica - “Her Kink is compartementalization, but she also dabbles in questionanble sex on drugs threesomes with a hooker.”

Cold Hearted Girl Tumblr - “Preempting the Discourse(TM). I was done with the 2010s when they were a new thing.”

Cold Hearted Girl Musings - “She tries to avoid the common pitfalls, at least in theory.”

Cold Hearted Girl Adventures - “She realizes that she’s the sort of person who breaks people’s heart; She’s like this asshole boyfriend from all these lovesongs.”

Cold Hearted Girl's Lament - “She’s usually the one who has to take it upon herself to be be the rational one and tell you ‘No’.”

Cold Hearted Girl Challenges - “Even the Best of her relationships involved her being compared to a robot at least once.”

Life is Gross - “Including the bits of it that are commonly accepted to be loveable and cute.”

Indifference II: Emotionally unavailable morally ambiguous chick - “There are character flaws, ppl. Being an asshole is generally a bad thing.”

Cyborgery I (the becomming) - “Even when she’s right with you,she’s so far away”

The Minimalist's Wet Dream - “She leads her life with a bare minimum of human contact.”

Alphabet Girl - “It would be one thing if you were competing with the universe, but it’s really her ingrown, self-absorbed world you’re playing second fiddle to.”

Peel - “You thought you could find a normal person underneath, didn’t you?”

Part B: Maladaptive Daydreaming

Endzeitromantik - “No one wants to admit these days that they ever liked NuMetal but she sees no reason to do the same.”

Unapologetic - “She’s not romanticising what she thinks you think she’s romanticising. Or so she thinks.”

Luciferosis - “She’s in love with the Devil and is planning to leave in order to be with him. Of course, she will be missed, but of course, she doesn’t care about it. She’s the sort of asshole who’d fall in love with the Devil.”

Opheliac - “There are multiple ways to be in love with the void. The most relevant ones are not featured in this piece.”

Lone Diggin' - “Going to restaurants on her own.”

The Girl In The Tower - “To preserve something valuable in safe, protected garden... that is not what you did.”

Bizarro Self - “She’s put some thought into this, actually.”

Dreamer Things - “That’s what she calls them, anyway. ‘Dreamer’ may be an euphemism here.”

Make Me Wanna Die - “She just wants to be special, probably because she has no idea what real suffering is. Words mean things, you know?”

Favorite Love Songs - “Though her real life is barren and deprived, she has a rich inner life. Well, then again, how ‘rich’ can an ‘inner life’ be that only ruminates tiny indirect tidbits of information?”

There Is A Little Harley Quinn In All Of Us - “Unpacking the Whole Badboy Complex. It’s not what you think it is.”

Strange Little Girl - “You really should be going.”

Abstract Dreams - “She doesn’t think they mean anything but she’s willing to indulge the thoughts.”

Joy, Joy, Joy, the Melancholia Rolercoaster. - “She likes to think she has feelings.”

Immortelle - “Involving no Actual Immortals.”

I Feel Personally Victimized By Those 19th Century Romanticists - “Even I am not sure what she’s trying to rove here.”

My Fantasy - “Her kink is apparently freezing to death.”

Cyborgery II - “She envies people whose calloused hands show their dedication to their passion.”

Reality Death - “Silly Rabbit, of course the world keeps turning when you’re not there to observe it anymore.”

Dandelion - “The flower that blooms in adversity is the rarest and most beautiful of all. But sometimes it’s better to be the Dandelion, which can take root anywhere and everywhere.”

Plunge - “If there’s some A grade deaster going on, she obviously won’t miss out on watching.”

Fairytale Ending - “My favorites were Sleeping Beauty and ‘The Salt Princess’. Go on and psychoanalyze me.”

Recontextualizing - “She has different words for it now.”

Peeping Tommie - “It’s at it’s purest where it belongs the least. Or perhaps she just grew the fuck up.”

Paper Flowers - “She’d like to think they mean something.”

Part C: Exercises in Counterdependency

The Butthurt Electra Playlist - “She’s got enough self-awareness to call it that, but not enough to realize it was a bad idea.”

She Will Have her Revenge - “She’ll come back as Fire/ To Burn All the Liars/ Leave a Blanket of Ash on the Ground.”

Hate Poems - “Or: Giving yourself Headaches over people who aren’t worth it”

Pavlov redux - “If you can’t understand like a human, you have to be beaten like a dog” - “Actually, Daddy Dearest, you’re not supposed to beat dogs, either.”

Im Real Good At Hating - “Honestly! I’ve got to have some talent somewhere. ”

Fuck You Specifically- “Her Lips: Fuck You. Her Hair: Fuck You. Her Clothes: Fuck You. Her crippling self-motivation issues: Fuck You.”

My whole existence for your amusement - “And that is why I’m here with you.”

Sick & Tired - “Yes I know what you think of me, you never shut up.”

Been A Son - “Why does she spend so much time searching for some kind of reason for what you did? Even if there was, it wouldn’t justify your actions.”

Make a list - “It’s supposed to be a therapeutic excercise.”

choice - “It’s the Morton’s Fork of emotions.”

gross girl - “FAART. FAART. She picks her note and eats it. ”

BratFactory - “She outright heard her mother say that she has no value to that man except as a mother to make children.”

AntiStar - “Back in the day, I became obsessed with the thought of a lightless Luminary, an existence that is the very opposite of light.”

Adaptation - “It’s amazing how much a human can twist themselves into a pretzel. It was a matter of survival at the time, you see.”

Emotional Abuse Checklist - “BINGO!”

Remember That We Suffered - “You have no idea what pain is.”

Cyborgery III: We can Rebuild Her - “Perhaps these vagrant years were simply the means to piece herself back together.”

Idetifikation mit dem Aggressor - “Apparently she looks just like him.”

Es Kocht Die Eifersucht - “A parent is supposed to protect a child from the bad experiences of their youth, not inflict some creepy reenactment of them upon you.”

Curmudgeon (Long Way Home) - “She’s that thing you go to when you want to have a cheap laugh.”

Visibility - “Your Father Loves you! why can’t you see that?”

Touchy - “You bet she is.”

Light - “She thinks she used to be Light once, but she can’t be sure.”

If I Die, I can be replaced - “I will leave you all behind, move to spain and adopt some children who actually deserve my time and money. Perhaps they will finally appreciate me, unlike you ungrateful wretches.”

My One Mistake Was That I Couldn't Let You Down - “Turns out she wasn’t quite Cold Hearted enough.”

PART D: USELESS, USELESS, USELESS CHILD

Fuckyeahmedicalgrossness - “In my humble opinion, the human brain is way too squishy.”

Something in The Way - “You can always find something.”

Unbirth - “Barely Functioning Lump of Human Flesh. Except no, that’s unfair to the people with real problems. I suppose ‘asshole’ will do.”

Donald Duck Volcano - “I’m not gonna sugarcoat her this time.”

My Wretched Soul Desires Violence - “It’s not pretty, but it’s true. It shouldn’t be but it is.”

Verbal Disclaimer - “I’m not claiming I’m perfect either.”

Useless Child - “How was she supposed to learn if you never let her do anything?”

Madwoman in the Attic - “And they always knew she would be the family spinster.”

Unfair Existence - “At the risk of sounding like a millionaire campaigning for a tax on poverty.”

The Mutant - “Way to make that 9 year old feel like a freak of nature... in the end it’s probably a kind of arrogance.”

Green Grunge - “It’s her jam, except not really. She sure can’t claim to be an expert.”

In Defense Of That Legendary Divorce - “The whole concept of ‘stay for the children’ is utter bullsh*t”

My Fantasy II - “I’m gonna kill all yo fuckers. That’s what quiet people who keep to themselves are supposed to do, right?”

Cyborgery IV – Plastic Death - “My Fetish: All the weak parts of the real me, cut away and dumped in a bucket of medical waste.”

Schreckschraube - “It occurs to her that she’s terribly gross to them.”

Nemo, or as my father lovingly calls me, "Chiquilla de Mierda" - “It’s Spanish for ‘Shit Brat’.”

Hasmereir - “Some of the cruelty is lost in translation, but it basically means ‘Make-Me-Laugh-Thing.’”

You Stink - “Bullies aren’t known for being very creative people.”

Sweet Sweet Reality - “She’s not completely out of touch with it.”

Is there More To Lose Than Gain - “Apparently yes, but she’s not sure how to get it anyways.”

Alraune - “Always with the legends and the soulless children. I think she has a type.”

Confession - “I plead guilty. Mostly to existing.”

Way Too Old For This And F****ing Bored Of It - “Even she is sick of all her emo bullsh*t.”

EPILOGUE: WHATS THE USE OF FEELING BLUE? - The next step, apparently, is crying.

#chgb #writing #baby tries to art #trigger warning

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theliterateape · 5 years

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Second Chance

by Don Hall

I wrote and performed this piece for the third of Scott Whitehair’s Liars Contests. The second was notable because I met DMJ that night. Given the nature of my take on the theme of Second Chances it seemed apropos.

Second Chance

I believe in second chances.

The second time around, I became completely engrossed by comic books. Superman. The Incredible Hulk. The X-Men. People with super powers. I understood Batman but he was just a wealthy sociopath so I really didn’t feel that sense of connection.

Spiderman? Spiderman was my jam. Given powers he didn’t ask for and a simple agenda: With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility. I learned a bunch of stuff from reading Spiderman. To experiment with my powers in private. To figure out ways to use science to enhance them. And to keep a secret identity.

Like Peter Parker, I quickly figured out that not only could I levitate above my bathtub (a fact that drove my mom crazy because she simply could get me to bathe without just spraying me with a hose) but that, if I concentrated, I could almost fly. “Almost” because levitation doesn’t include propulsion. At least not in my case. I "never needed an elevator but I still needed a cab" kind of thing.

What I learned from the X-Men was that powers could be the kind of burden that turned everyone else against you. I should've already known that. That people love the idea of a person with super powers but would react with fear and hatred if someone actually had them. So when I discovered my advanced healing ability - like Wolverine but with the power to sort of transfer it to other people as well - I only used it on mom when she had a cold and that one time when she found a lump in her breast. She got a little freaked out when I spent all day trying to fix my dog Lazy after he got hit by a car when I was twelve. I fixed him but it was more like “Pet Semetary" and he was super weird after that. I didn’t do that again.

The food thing was cool but kind of useless except for when mom couldn’t afford to go to the grocery store. We both thought I was making food appear like a Star Trek replicator but what was really happening was that I was telekinetically transporting food from other places to our house. That felt like stealing so I quit that, too.

After college, I decided to experiment with being a super hero. I wore a ski mask and roamed around our tiny town looking for wrongs to right but I wasn’t strong like Superman and my powers weren’t really very good at stopping thieves or violent crimes. I remember the night I decided to hang that idea up. I caught three guys breaking into a liquor store and I challenged them. As soon as they turned on me, I realized I wasn’t really equipped to deal with these guys. They ended beating the crap out of me - one guy hit me with an electrical cord, like, forty times. So I ended up ditching the mask and just decided to become a teacher. I’d moonlight as a bartender because serving booze and talking to people seemed to be a good fit.

On my 33rd birthday, after hiding among the people and jobs, I realized that I wasn’t a mutant or a super hero. I wasn’t a part of a team. There was no one else on the entire planet with powers and life wasn’t a comic book. So I embraced my secret identity - Don Hall, average big-mouth white guy - and did my best to pretend I was normal. Just like everybody else.

As I approached fifty, I realized that middle-age isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. The live hard, die young thing had worked for James Dean, Marilyn Monroe, and Jimi Hendrix so they never had to deal with dry feet, ear hair or having to pee every seven minutes. I also started remembering things. Things from a different time. It was all triggered by Rankin and Bass one Christmas.

I figured out what I was. At first, I thought I was Santa Claus but the powers didn't fit. And I don't look good in red. I wasn't Santa Claus.

I was your second chance.

This time, though, I had you to teach me. You took my words and completely fucked them up. I NEVER said ANYTHING about gays. Not once. I was seriously anti-capitalist and you started a fucking system based entirely upon it as a bedrock philosophy. I never slutshamed - remember the “He who is without sin” thing? For fuck’s sake, it couldn’t be simpler!

I have lived among you for fifty years now in secret. I can tell you people because - well, this is a liar’s contest and who’s gonna believe you anyway? I have lived among you and watched how you ignore the basic human kindnesses and twist faith into intolerance. For monetary gain and convenience, you’ve slowly taken the most unique creation in the universe and treated it the way an aging smoker treats his lungs. More food than you can eat and millions starving in famine. It’s too bad my pops promised not to raze the place again because it’s all ending and cutting your head off with a cleaver is faster and less painful that cutting it off with a butter knife.

I believe in second chances. But not this time.

#Christmas Spirit

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