The first time that he sees her, it’s raining. Well, it’s a downpour. Same thing really. Either way, he stands frozen in the street, stark blue eyes catching sight of the pattern of her flowing dress, the bright flowers on the cloth a heavy contrast to the dark, looming clouds above.
She seems to be in a rush (as most people would be when the heavens themselves try to drown all of the human civilization.) Her legs work frantically, rushing to carry her to her undisclosed location. She’s stepped in four puddles already, her hair is streaming down her face in a wet mess, her frantic eyes scanning her surroundings for some sort of shelter that could keep her from getting wetter than she already was, the dress clinging to her frame.
Bucky’s an idiot. At least that’s what Sam would say after seeing him stand out in the rain, freezing his dumb ass off, most definitely in danger of catching a cold.
Then again, of course, Bucky wouldn’t pay attention to Sam’s bitch ass, because despite the cold rain seeping into his bones, he swears that he’s never felt warmer.
She can feel it happening but she can’t open her mouth to scream. She’s not sure what they are doing, only that the pain between her eyes is blinding. This isn’t an examination, she thinks wildly to herself. It’s a vivisection. They’re opening my forehead. They’re taking something out or placing something in. A live animal. Some kind of rodent. A small, sharp-toothed thing that will gnaw at my brain until I go insane. Or die. Hopefully die. I don’t think I can take this much longer.
She’s drowning now, trying helplessly to inhale, her breaths coming out in gurgling gasps, and she’s not sure if she’s gagging on blood or her own vomit. Blood, probably. She hasn’t been able to keep anything down for days.
The pain is like a shrill wail now, coming in waves over the spot where her cancer is living and pulsing like a foreign creature. Rather than a simple tumour, made solely of herself, the exalted multiplication of cells in her body feels like a gruesome imitation of Christ multiplying bread. This is a communion she has to choke down herself. The doctors say she shouldn’t drink wine because of the treatment but if she’s sick half the time, from swallowing pints of her own blood, she might as well go Catholic on her disease.
Whatever is inside her brow is crawling towards her temples now, underneath her eyelids too. It no longer feels mammalian in nature but sort of like an oil. She thinks of the black virus and imagines it oozing inside her, sleek yet painful like shards of very small glass.
She’s trying to open her eyes, she knows she’s half dreaming but it’s hard, each time it’s more difficult to step out of unconsciousness and she can’t help but think, but know, that she will die in her sleep. But not painlessly, not the good death. She will not go gentle.
The name sounds watery when she tries to say it, but she doesn’t need to. Not really. Mulder is there already. No gun drawn, he knows the devil isn’t lurking in the shadows. The devil is in her, a nasopharengeal mass right under the spot she touches when she crosses herself in prayer.
“Shhh, Scully,” he whispers and she can hear the fear in his voice. She exclaims his name, finally, but all that leaves her mouth is a blurting of blood disguised in a wet sob.
He tenderly wipes her face clean with a damp towel and moves her towards the side of the bed that isn’t stained with rust-coloured blemishes left by those who are dying.
The pain is only a dull ache now and she can feel herself return to normal. She focuses on Mulder who is laying on her bed over the covers, stilling her, comforting her. Her eyelids feel heavy with exhaustion, but she quirks her lips at his grey cotton boxers, his bare knees, his long feet.
“Mulder, where are your pants?”
He doesn’t answer but strokes her hair and presses his lips on the crown of her head. She closes her eyes. She is cold all the time now and can feel the warmth radiating off his body. God, she doesn’t want to die, but if she has to, this is how. This is with whom. She would never do that to him though, he’s been through enough. Too many losses for one man.
“Mulder, get under the covers with me” she sighs and feels waves of comfort overwhelm her as he crawls in and wraps himself around her, cradling her gently in his arms.
Please God, don’t let me die tonight. Don’t have him try to wake me in the morning and find out that he can’t.
She drifts back into the darkness and doesn’t know that he’s asking for the same thing.
Scottish mermaids live in the highland’s lochs. Their tail is dark green and their hair usually red. They are the guardians of ancient weapons of fallen warriors and keep them in the depths of the lakes’ waters, waiting for a worthy suitor for the old abandonned weapons. If a person worthy enough walk by the lake’s shore, they hand them the blade they were destined to, only keeping their arms out of the water. Scottish mermaids are gracious and utterly beautiful. If one walk by one of them while she washes her hair, he will succumb to her and drown trying to reach her. Like the kelpies, those mermaids eat human flesh and a single human can feed one mermaid for at least a month.
She’s slumped over the bar, arms braced in
front of her, head hung over her glass like she’s literally trying to drown
herself in alcohol.
Her phone feels like lead in her pocket,
inactive and cold against her thigh. The bartender glances at the woman warily,
zoned out into her half empty glass; she’s been here for three hours, and has
only spoken once to ask for “the strongest stuff you’ve got,”
“Ms.,” He calls out tentatively.
“A-Are you alright,”
Her head snaps up, and the bartender
flinches when wide eyes find his. She grins, the dry skin of her lips
splitting, and the taste of copper fills her mouth.
“No,” She sighs. “It’s my
Shaken, the bartender slowly reaches for
his phone, only to stop when a man appears behind her, resting a gentle hand
between her shoulder blades.
“Well then, happy birthday, birthday
She turns to her left to gawp at the man
beside her, uttering awed “T-Thank you,”
The man shoots the bartender a reassuring
wink before taking the seat next to her. “That’s the nicest thing someone
has said to me all day,” she confesses, ears tinged pink at how pathetic
she sounds. Her new companion chuckles lightheartedly, swiveling in his seat so
that is knees bump hers.
“Really? Well no wonder you look so
sad,” he spreads his hands in front of him, gesturing to the bar in front.
“What can I do to make your day, birthday girl?”
She giggles, biting her lip and tracing the
rim of her glass with her finger. “For starters, you can tell me your
He leans back, offering her a hand with a playful look in his eye. “Kim
Taehyung, at your service,”
“Y/N,” She shakes his hand and
smiles, the mischievous look on his face contagious. He frowns. “No last
At this, she pulls her hand away, leaning
onto the bar. “I think that’s something you’ll have to earn,”
“Alright,” His grins seems to get
impossibly wider. “I love a good challenge,”
Request: “can you do one where the reader is pyrokinesis (control and creates fire) and the students are afraid of her because she has a short temper and because of that she dose a Johnny Storm moment which burns and melts everything in her surrounding. She has a crush on Alex and one day he see her trying to drown herself because she cause harm to others and she has no friends cause of this. Can you almost make her hair have an orange strike because it’s the effect of her mutation”
Warnings: Bullying, self-hatred, depression
A/N: So I couldn’t write a suicide scene or anything, sorry about that. It’s just a little too dark, and honestly I don’t think I can write it. I assumed you meant Alex Summers when you said Alex, so if it’s someone else please tell me and i’ll fix it (I think there’s only one Alex…)
You could feel the gazes of the students bore into your back as you walked along the hall towards you room for the night, keeping your eyes downcast. They all whispered about you, giving you strange glances as you passed them by. You were a pyrokineticist, or you controlled and creates fire. It sounds like an easy mutation, but you see easily angered and startled, setting off your mutation faster than you could control it. Everyone avoided you for that reason, afraid that you would burn them.
You wrapped your arms around yourself, clenching up when you heard the school bullies come up laughing behind you.
“Hey! Fire freak!”
You tried to ignore them. They always tried to set you off on purpose, to either get you in trouble or to humiliate you. Either way, you hated them for it.
“Come on! Show us some fire.”
You swallowed at the sound of their derisive laughter, your heart beating faster and faster.
“Or are you too weak? You’re the loose cannon, no one cares for you!"
You recognized the voice of the lead bully, a large brown-haired boy who lived for other people’s pain. You worked your jaw, blood rushing in your ears as you turned around.
"Do you want to see some fire?” You hissed. You let your power explode, flames enveloping you and the room, melting everything around you, even the windows. You could hear their screams over the roar of the fire, the slapping of feet against the ground as they ran. You managed to calm down after a moment, dousing the flames with one quick wave of your arm. You were breathing heavily, looking around the completely destroyed room. There were burn marks carved into the floor, ashes falling like snow from the burned ceiling. You gasped, feeling tears burn your eyes. You didn’t mean for this to happen. You rushed out of the room, not noticing the blond figure that stood behind you, their face twisted in worry.
You ran across the starlit lawn of Xavier’s school, the dewy grass soaking through your shoes. You stopped suddenly at your normal place to go hide out; a small pool of water. The moon was reflected in the waves, the chirping of night insects muffling any other sound. Your hair fluttered in the small breeze, your signature orange streak catching the light of the moon. You sat down at the edge of the water, curling into yourself. You hated the fact you had no friends. You wished you were able to control your ability, or didn’t even have it at all.
You jumped when you heard someone approach from behind, their feet whispering in the grass. They sat down beside you, sighing. You looked over to see your crush, Alex Summers, sitting there, his eyes soft.
“You okay?” He asked. You looked down at your feet, biting your lip so hard you felt it crack and start to bleed.
“I’m tired of this,” you whispered. “Everyone hates me. They’re all so afraid. I wish I could control my mutation. I wish I wasn’t such a freak.”
“I don’t hate you.” Alex’s comforting voice brought your tears close to spilling over. He reached over tentatively, you tensing at his touch at first. But as he brought you in for a hug, you relaxed, letting your tears fall freely. Alex’s hand stroked your shoulder, murmuring into your ear quietly.
“You know, all of us are struggling. We all have to take time and learn, and you’re no different. Maybe it’ll take longer than some, but one day, I promise you’ll be able to control your powers. Just give yourself a chance. Let people get to know you a bit more, relax.”
You wiped your eyes, managing to calm down a bit. “Thank you.”
Alex hugged you tight. “I’ll help you, even if it takes years, and we’ll get this under control. You’ll see.”
Ever since Caelin had left her on the ground after her ice baths, Izzy had been shaking. It wasn’t soft trembling, it was noticeable, and sometimes violent, tremoring. Of course, she’d gotten sick. She got sick if she was in a cold car for too long, but this was beyond that.
The light lay on her cot, her blanket wrapped tightly around her. Her hair and clothes stuck to her sweaty skin, and a small pile of old food sat by her door. Isabella hadn’t moved since she’d been put there by the guards, and she wasn’t so sure she was able to.
In the back of her mind she could hear them yelling, and she tried to drown out the sound. The guards were trying to get her out to shower or go outside, but they made no effort to move her. For all they were concerned, if she wasn’t moving, she wasn’t going.
#1 of the art giveaway for @loverickandmorty!! The theme was: Inter dimensional trio happy!
This one came from a dream I had ages ago…Jerry and Beth are fighting seriously and threatening divorce. Summer was trying to drown them out with music when she heard a knock on her door. Rick and Morty were outside signaling her to come with them. They left and picked up ice cream from Rick’s favorite store and stopped at some exoplanet to watch the suns set over the beach. It was quiet and warm and nothing but the sound of the wind on the cliffs and the water lapping up on the rocks below.