"you're such a fake, kitty! you don't care about helping people! it's a front to make everyone love you. you just want to make me look bad! you don't care about helping people -- it's a front to make everyone love you -- a front to make everyone love you -- to make everyone love you -- to make me look bad!"
at first it is just a mild inconvenience. midnight isn't an unknown hour, but she wakes with a start and everything feels wrong. the bed is not her own and the fear is real in those first moments as her eyes adjust. the covers are pushed off quickly as she fights for breath. it is too hot and her head is pounding. this one is stronger than the last time; the strongest yet. she wants to scream out but thinks better of it when she sees the easel. it shocks her into focus. she fumbles for the light and paces by the bed. a piece of charcoal cracks under her toe and she inches back toward the bed in a hurry. there's a figure there, in the middle of the canvas that she can't quite make out, brows creased. she takes a sideward step and the room spins before she can grab the edge of the dresser. she catches the end of a sweatshirt instead as she tumbles back, a stack of books falling from beneath it. the shirt is still warm and his scent clings to it. he must be here, though she doesn't know why she is. a thought she doesn't recognise as her own tells her that he can't be far. she composes herself and passes the mirror as she heads for the door. she sees her reflection. she wears pyjamas festooned with carebears and her hair is in pigtails. kitty's stomach turns as the realisation dawns. she is at the mansion. dressed like her fifteen year old self.
...love, in the way she understands it has to be earned. she knows it makes no sense to look at a child and believe it is their birthright, but forgo it herself. unconditional love. she cannot grasp it. the feeling is primal when she thinks of them. the children in that warzone. she sees the fear when she says she is there to help. the entire planet is shaking. the core has been compromised. what can she do? she makes sure it is only henchmen who notice when she phases a hand through the chest of their overlord and makes her threats to pull ever so gently. it's a distinction that's easily made when you look at something so new and so pure, no matter how much violence has touched it. a being of light, untainted. it needs to be protected, at all costs. something or someone beyond her chose this moment, chose the time and place that they would all draw breath at the same time. she will be their deliverer, she will fight until her last breath is choked from her. and those words, those words will mean nothing. she doesn't want their love. the weight of it is crushing. justice is what she wants. reinforcements arrive. they open fire. the screams are deafening. they have ushered hundreds of refugees into the cargo bay. she pushes the thrusters to full capacity and sees the ones left behind. it is too late. she doesn't want their love. she hasn't earnt it...
...her stomach grumbles with hunger. they have been walking for hours. children are crying, but her face is solemn. it isn't hard to understand what will come next. the fear returns, but it is not just her own. there is a star on katherine's jacket. there are men in uniforms watching her shuffle past in a line of hundreds. the building ahead is grey. if she tries hard enough, she can hear the sea. the mud beneath her feet is dark. everything is dark. "екатерина!" comes her mother's cry and she feels the weight of someone pushing her down. into the mud. the shots ring out into the night. the final count: 36,000 dead...
...the floor is cold and it keeps her calm for now. it is an old fall-out shelter her family inherited from the previous occupant. it's a fitting location. no one can hear her here. no one can see her. her hand tugs hard on her hair. it is tangible. it is real. kitty reaches for the book by her knee, turns it over, flips through the pages. then it falls from her fingers and her hand disappears. her hand disappears into the book! kitty screams. the book flies across the room. she keeps screaming. her mother finds her on the grass in the morning with her clothes soaked through. kitty refuses to talk about it. then, a man in a wheelchair, sitting in her living room, telling her parents that she is special...
...piotr kisses her and her face goes blank. it isn't on the lips. he kisses her temple and he may as well have called her 'little sister'. he usually does. it isn't the kind of kiss that she wants and it isn't fair. she wants him more than anyone else does, more than anyone else ever will, she just knows it. "you're too young, katya," he says and it might be true, but she doesn't care. he is the first and she knows he will be the last. his expression seems pained, he squeezes her shoulder and walks off. she doesn't let anyone see her cry. a slumbering dragon curls at her feet. he seems to sympathise...
...her central nervous system is at odds with itself. the fear is real. as real as it will ever be for the reptilian brain. adrenaline is a tricky thing, but it's not new. star-lord wants to fling herself out the air-lock. she wants to tear all her skin off. she wants her knees to stop shaking. her back is dripping wet. her skin is on fire. there is no external threat. it is all happening inside. her eyes finally open. the silence of space magnifies her frantic heart. there's an engagement ring on her finger. it feels like it belongs. there's a man in the bed next to her. his scent is intoxicating and it's on her too. she realises that she is naked. far off, she can hear music...
kitty grits her teeth and shakes the memories loose. all of them. 'out, out, damned spot,' she steals a glance at ororo from her seat in the cockpit. they're getting closer. she's changed out of those ridiculous pyjamas, took the woman's advice to sleep. but all she sees is sorrow. she needs to stay awake. she sighs. at least she has someone here. at least she knows the woman by her side is real.
at first it is just a mild inconvenience. midnight isn't an unknown hour, but she wakes with a start and everything feels wrong. the bed is not her own and the fear is real in those first moments as her eyes adjust. the covers are pushed off quickly as she fights for breath. it is too hot and her head is pounding. this one is stronger than the last time; the strongest yet. she wants to scream out but thinks better of it when she sees the easel. it shocks her into focus. she fumbles for the light and paces by the bed. a piece of charcoal cracks under her toe and she inches back toward the bed in a hurry. there's a figure there, in the middle of the canvas that she can't quite make out, brows creased. she takes a sideward step and the room spins before she can grab the edge of the dresser. she catches the end of a sweatshirt instead as she tumbles back, a stack of books falling from beneath it. the shirt is still warm and his scent clings to it. he must be here, though she doesn't know why she is. a thought she doesn't recognise as her own tells her that he can't be far. she composes herself and passes the mirror as she heads for the door. she sees her reflection. she wears pyjamas festooned with carebears and her hair is in pigtails. kitty's stomach turns as the realisation dawns. she is at the mansion. dressed like her fifteen year old self.
...love, in the way she understands it has to be earned. she knows it makes no sense to look at a child and believe it is their birthright, but forgo it herself. unconditional love. she cannot grasp it. the feeling is primal when she thinks of them. the children in that warzone. she sees the fear when she says she is there to help. the entire planet is shaking. the core has been compromised. what can she do? she makes sure it is only henchmen who notice when she phases a hand through the chest of their overlord and makes her threats to pull ever so gently. it's a distinction that's easily made when you look at something so new and so pure, no matter how much violence has touched it. a being of light, untainted. it needs to be protected, at all costs. something or someone beyond her chose this moment, chose the time and place that they would all draw breath at the same time. she will be their deliverer, she will fight until her last breath is choked from her. and those words, those words will mean nothing. she doesn't want their love. the weight of it is crushing. justice is what she wants. reinforcements arrive. they open fire. the screams are deafening. they have ushered hundreds of refugees into the cargo bay. she pushes the thrusters to full capacity and sees the ones left behind. it is too late. she doesn't want their love. she hasn't earnt it...
...her stomach grumbles with hunger. they have been walking for hours. children are crying, but her face is solemn. it isn't hard to understand what will come next. the fear returns, but it is not just her own. there is a star on katherine's jacket. there are men in uniforms watching her shuffle past in a line of hundreds. the building ahead is grey. if she tries hard enough, she can hear the sea. the mud beneath her feet is dark. everything is dark. "екатерина!" comes her mother's cry and she feels the weight of someone pushing her down. into the mud. the shots ring out into the night. the final count: 36,000 dead...
...the floor is cold and it keeps her calm for now. it is an old fall-out shelter her family inherited from the previous occupant. it's a fitting location. no one can hear her here. no one can see her. her hand tugs hard on her hair. it is tangible. it is real. kitty reaches for the book by her knee, turns it over, flips through the pages. then it falls from her fingers and her hand disappears. her hand disappears into the book! kitty screams. the book flies across the room. she keeps screaming. her mother finds her on the grass in the morning with her clothes soaked through. kitty refuses to talk about it. then, a man in a wheelchair, sitting in her living room, telling her parents that she is special...
...piotr kisses her and her face goes blank. it isn't on the lips. he kisses her temple and he may as well have called her 'little sister'. he usually does. it isn't the kind of kiss that she wants and it isn't fair. she wants him more than anyone else does, more than anyone else ever will, she just knows it. "you're too young, katya," he says and it might be true, but she doesn't care. he is the first and she knows he will be the last. his expression seems pained, he squeezes her shoulder and walks off. she doesn't let anyone see her cry. a slumbering dragon curls at her feet. he seems to sympathise...
...her central nervous system is at odds with itself. the fear is real. as real as it will ever be for the reptilian brain. adrenaline is a tricky thing, but it's not new. star-lord wants to fling herself out the air-lock. she wants to tear all her skin off. she wants her knees to stop shaking. her back is dripping wet. her skin is on fire. there is no external threat. it is all happening inside. her eyes finally open. the silence of space magnifies her frantic heart. there's an engagement ring on her finger. it feels like it belongs. there's a man in the bed next to her. his scent is intoxicating and it's on her too. she realises that she is naked. far off, she can hear music...
kitty grits her teeth and shakes the memories loose. all of them. 'out, out, damned spot,' she steals a glance at ororo from her seat in the cockpit. they're getting closer. she's changed out of those ridiculous pyjamas, took the woman's advice to sleep. but all she sees is sorrow. she needs to stay awake. she sighs. at least she has someone here. at least she knows the woman by her side is real.