#mutantfirst

YOUR  MOTHER  NEVER  ALLOWS  YOU  TO  WATCH  DISNEY.  Television  is  for  children  with  free  time,  children  who  don’t  spend  hours  at  a  preparatory  school  before  being  sent  to  music  lessons  or  fencing  lessons  or  ballet  lessons.  Fridays  and  weekends  consisting  of  fencing  competitions  and  practice;  Tuesdays  and  Thursdays  were  music  and  Mondays  and  Wednesdays  were,  of  course,  ballet.  Always,  you  practiced  until  your  fingers  bled,  your  legs  giving  out  -  your  mother  would  always  snatch  you  by  your  sunlight  spun  hair,  dragging  you  off  to  the  bathroom,  snarling  that  you  were  making  a  fool  of  her.  –   You,  young  and  desperate  to  please  your  mother,  worked  until  your  body  would  give  out.

Your  first  introduction  to  the  films  comes  from  your  babysitter;  one  of  many,  whose  name  you’ve  long  forgotten, with  short  dark  hair  and  glasses.  She  brings  dvds  to  your  house  after  her  third  night,  after  realising  that  your  mother  only  ever  let  you  watch  documentaries,  political  and  scientific  media.  She  smiles  at  you  as  she  pulls  you  to  her  on  the  couch,  brushing  wild  hair  as  the  film  starts.  Your  heart  soars;  she  is  beautiful,  dark  hair  and  ruby  red  lips.  “Who  is  she?”  You  hear  yourself  ask,  leaning  forward.  “Her  name’s  Snow  White.”  The  college  student  replies,  smiling  slightly.  “I  want  to  look  like  her.” 

She  promises  to  bring  a  film  you’d  really  like  the  next  time  she  comes;  yet,  the  next  time  she  comes,  she  opens  the  door  to  find  you,  weeping  on  the  stairs,  holding  small  hands  over  a  crimson  handprint  on  your  cheek,  your  mother  redfaced  and  screaming.  You  never  see  her  again.

(When  you’re  older,  you  wonder  why  child  protective  services  never  came;  but  you  remember  then,  how  much  your  mother  earned,  how  she’d  gotten  away  with  the  murder  of  your  father  and  you  don’t  wonder  as  much.)

When  you’re  ten,  another  babysitter  comes.  She  brings  Cinderella,  dancing  around  the  room  with  your  baby  sister,  keeping  her  from  being  upset  and  crying.  You’re  entranced  by  the  film  and  cry  at  the  end  of  it,  wiping  your  tears  and  blubbering  that  you  want  a  prince  like  that.  You  want  someone  to  take  you  to  a  castle  and  make  you  into  a  queen.  Your  babysitter  scoops  you  up  and  holds  you  to  her  chest,  telling  you  the  story  of  how  she  met  her  husband.

That  one  becomes  your  favourite;  you  memorize  it,  all  the  songs,  playing  them  on  your  cello.  It  makes  your  heart  race,  thinking  about  how  one  day,  you’ll  have  that  same  ending,  that   someone  will  come  take  you  away  from  your  wicked  mother  and  give  you  a  castle  and  a  crown.

congrats bb blue!! c:

                                                       ▐ ☾ ▐

                      a snide grin formed,   vicious fangs on full display like the flex of a muscle to show off as a MALICIOUS laugh sounded through them.  he was,  of course,   unaware of the prying of memories his leader had delved into but his most prominent thoughts lingered on the fresh memories of PAIN.   the metallic cages  &&  the roar of crowds seeking enjoyment from his  s u f f e r i n g .   he’d been bought  &&  traded through a system...    a system not too unlike the one that this Caliban ran.

                       he would be the first of many that Nightcrawler would enact his revenge on.   let him feel the pain he endured his entire life.

                            ❛  ...  vith pleasure.   ❜   a low GROWL sounded off as he stalked closer to his target.   purposely slow steps just to  p r o l o n g  the inevitable.   in a split second,   his tail had pointed upwards,  SURGED through the space between him  &&  his victim to make it’s place known;  wedged directly under Caliban’s eyeball as he forced the arrowhead tip of his tail deeper into the socket   ━━━   intent on SPOONING the wretched thing right out before finally ripping it from the optic nerve with one harsh yank.

                     vines rose from where they lay dormant on the ground the very moment an intruder into her home was detected, though they did not hasten to attack at the sight of him — instead forming somewhat of a protective barrier in front of the woman. ( her children have, thus far, remained unharmed by his presence there ... and she planned to keep it that way, unless absolutely necessary ) ——— a mistake, perhaps.

ivy’s breath caught in her throat as she began to feel a powerful force intruding into her mind, and a groan slipped past painted lips ;  EXPOSED. he could see everything ... from the first garden planted with her small, childish hands ... to the experiments endured under false love ... to the very moment she claimed the name poison ivy for all to know.

————— she should have been furious. and, in a sense, she was.

the air was thick.  choking cold, arms crossed && held close to her chest.  the street lamps flickered when she passed, the light seeming to be covered up by a foam of black energy. the matter ｌｉｃｋｅｄ against the glass, leaving an imprint similar to charcoal. ---------- a MALFUNCTION ;; the energy HOOKED, grasped onto a light ---- tension.  the lamp shattered, snapping the mutant back into reality.  the air around her shifted 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 ;; a zigzagging shape that compacted into three blocks of pulsating energy. the blocks fell, && collapsed into a mist the second they touched the rough concrete.  the field that engulfed her popped, rendering her visible.  ( panic, shifting eyes, arms tightening around her form. )

the energy coated her sides, pulling over her face like a mask, lacing around her fingers and legs.  she was gone again.  the black mist left from what used to be solid blocks drained into a nearby sewer.  light brown eyes darted.  a silver volvo hummed down the street.  a beggar rested their head on their knees.