identity

Who am I? That, my dear, is an excellent question. Though one not easily answered.

[mysteriousdumbass]

apoisontouch​:

Being alone was easier for a lot of reasons. Rogue couldn’t hurt anyone with her powers if she was distant — couldn’t be hurt either by them leaving if she left first. She had been leaving people in the dust since she was a teenager, hiding away because it was easier than being exposed, being noticed, being involved. (Being alone was easier than being loved.) And with her dying mother cradled in her arms, she was reminded why she had been alone for so long. Why she had insisted upon it — why she ran at the first sight of something close to attachment hit her in the chest.

Her mother was choking on her words. It wasn’t her fault. Rogue had convinced herself that the bullet had been for her, it didn’t matter how many enemies her mother had made, all she could think about was how she had stood up there with Erik at Stark Tower with all those protestors — if she had made a few different choices — if she had been at home with her head under a pillow pretending the world wasn’t shaking with change around her — then she wouldn’t have been in this safe house. And neither would have her mother. They would have both been safe.

It wasn’t her fault. Rogue closed her eyes, wanting to fight and say that she had a hand in making this happen, and with Mystique’s dying wish to be the one to kill her, that hand was now literal. How many people had she done this too — how many people did she have walking around in her head? How many voices did Rogue have silenced in the hopes of having some peace at night? And now… now she was adding her mother to that list. The the list of bodies at her feet, the blood on her hands, the memories flickering in her head of the life that her mother had lived despite the world trying to crush her spirit at every turn.

Memories of Charles in the mansion, memories of quiet conversations with Erik. Memories of Kurt — of her — of Destiny. The world through Mystique’s eyes was so different from Rogue’s own view. Her confidence, the way she manipulated it around her to make it bend to her own will. Her mother’s voice echoing thoughts inside her head, loud and powerful, taking over Rogue’s own voice until it flickered and melted into the rest of the voices in her head. Distinguished, but not taking over.

And then, it stopped.

The transfer of energy came to an abrupt halt and all Rogue could feel was Mystique’s cooling skin beneath her hand. Nothing was left to take. With her hands shaking, Rogue moved to pull away but the second that Mystique’s body slumped, Rogue quickly grabbed her mother again, not ready to let her go, unwilling to let Mystique hit the floor.

But she had to. She had to let her mother go. Had to leave her here — otherwise this meant nothing. Footsteps outside the door served as a warning, a loud reminder that there was no time for this. No time to grieve, no time to be a person. Rogue, choking on her sobs, trying to keep quiet as to not alert the people about to burst in that she was there, set Mystique carefully on the floor and stood up, taking a few steps back and covering her mouth, a physical barrier to keep the sound in as she fell back into the shadows and followed Mystique’s plan. 

The door was broken in a few seconds later and the entire room was filled with strange men, and Rogue, using her mother’s power, shape shifted to look like them, her form was simple and unassuming, no one looked twice at her as she held up a nondescript gun and scanned the room before stepping out the back with a thin lie about checking the perimeter. 

Her feet hit the pavement and once again, Rogue was running. All the fighting she had done to stand her ground, to be a different person — and once again — she was running. Tears in her eyes and grief in her heart, the only difference between now and the first time she had runaway with this heaviness in her chest was her age. But the same panic and fear she had felt when her mutation first developed was there, thumping loudly in her chest as she ran in a stolen form. 

[sunsetquotes]

I can’t exactly describe how I feel but it’s not quite right. And it leaves me cold.

F. Scott Fitzgerald (via sunsetquotes)

[mysteriousdumbass]

apoisontouch​:

Being raised on a commune taught a person the importance of family — and being raised in one in the South? It easily doubled Rogue’s faith in it… or at least, in the idea of family. She had left her aunt behind and stripped herself of her family name to create and maintain that device between herself and the family she had been born with. Most people assumed that Rogue had wanted to protect her family, and on some level maybe she did. And right now? That call to protect her family was louder than it had been in years. Even the desire to run had dropped away.

(And now, of all times? When bullets were coming in from the window — when her mother was bloody and the reality quickly closing in on the two of them that there were only two endings to this story. Either one died. Or they both did.) 

Rogue’s eyes darted upward, the sound of footsteps — heavy ones — combat boots. They were just protestors, this was… this was something else. A thought flashed across the front of her mind, this was her fault, wasn’t it? She had been at Stark Tower with Erik, she had taken on those protestors — she had finally made a stand and now it was going to be what brought her to an early grave. 

“I didn’t think I was followed — I — I didn’t even check —” Rogue was panicked, the blood was pooling on the floor and death was knocking to collect her mother, and a few more seconds, and he’d be there for her too. But there was no time to wallow in her cycle of guilt. Rogue moved, trying to wrap an arm around Mystique to pick her up off the ground, only to stumble when she spoke again. 

She had known it, in her heart, she knew that her mother wasn’t going to make it out of the safe house, but when it was finally spoken… it was finally real. Impossible to ignore. impossible to push away into the furthest corner of her mind — impossible to pretend that they’d have a life together in the world that Mystique had been shaping. “No —” her voice broke. “No, ya can — get up.” 

With her mind stilling and her heart trembling, Rogue looked at Mystique with wide eyes, taking in each word. Her mother wanted to die on her own terms, and Rogue… Rogue was her choice. If she was going to die, she was choosing Rogue to be the one to take that last ember of life from her body. “Momma.” Rogue choked on the word, her chest trembling as she tried to catch her breath. 

This wasn’t like Jean reaching out to her in a moment of trust and saying that she had enough power to spare — this wasn’t Mystique reaching out and telling Rogue to borrow her power. This was something… unique. Rogue had never killed anyone like this before. No one had asked her to be the one to end it, no one had ever prepared her for what a mercy killing would feel like. (And nothing could prepare her for the memories that she might steal in the process.)

There was no room for argument. Rogue’s hands were trembling and as the footsteps got louder, as their voices became harsh whispers outside of the door that separated them from the monsters with guns that didn’t know the meaning of mercy — Rogue took off her gloves, and she took her mother’s hand. All control she had gained from before was shot with emotion, and the transfer began immediately. 

/ .-- / .... / --- /

She had survived lifetimes. Decades. Maybe centuries, she wasn’t sure anymore. The years blurred together, bent and wavered in her mind, and so much of it was unimportant. So many useless people had come and gone, she had flitted in and out of their lives because in the end, it was all so fleeting. So pointless. She had watched people fall in and out of love, she watched them break their hearts over and over, like the waves crashing against the rocks and expecting something to change, and she had never understood it.

Until Destiny. Until Anna Marie. Her beautiful, shining star, her wild heart daughter with a light like no one else. Raven saw her, saw Rogue, and she understood how waves could stand to crash against the shore. How they could change it if they just kept trying. Rogue was the wave who had eroded away her rough edges. Who smoothed the stones and sent her seashells and messages in bottles. 

Rogue was holding her now, and it was so ironic. She was the mother, but if the roles were reversed — if she was the one cradling Rogue while her daughter’s blood stained the floor, this story would’ve had a different ending. No survivors. Just rage and blood and fury. Instead all she felt was... peace. 

“Rogue,” she breathed, reaching up, and placing a gloved hand against her cheek. “Anna Marie. Listen to me.” She coughed once, but sucked in a breath and forced herself to hold it. Forced her lungs to accept just a little more oxygen. “This is... not your fault.” She could only whisper, but her voice was fierce even choked with blood. “Don’t you dare think that. Understand?” 

She brushed a strand of hair away from her face. There was so much she wanted to say, so much she had never found the words for. She knew she wasn’t the greatest mother. She couldn’t say she had always been there when she was needed. But she had loved Rogue, loved her more than was bearable sometimes, loved her so much it scared her. It wasn’t enough, not possibly what she deserved, but Raven had only one heart to give. And it was Rogue. 

For so long she had cared about nothing but her own survival. She had betrayed, lied, killed to stay breathing. Now she held up her hand and let the glove fade away, let her blue skin come forth. She didn’t want to risk any chance of this not working, wanted no layer and no mask between her and her child. Momma. That was the last thing she heard, before Rogue reached out, and took her hand. And as the pain ripped through her, as electricity shot through her veins, as she poured herself into Rogue’s touch, she finally understood the answer to a question she had been asking herself for a very long time.

Who am I? That,my dear, is an excellent question, though one not easily answered. 

Momma. 

[mysteriousdumbass]

maidenxfmight​:

Kara let the words tumble around for a moment. For however much she disparaged him, she and Erik both had a gift for words. Kara had a feeling she could talk her way in and out of anything, given enough time. It reminded her of another alley, another time. Erik had fire in his eyes and he made sense. She’d never begrudged him his anger, or questioned the reasons behind his actions. It had been the blood on his collar, and his casual relationship with violence that had her leaving the alley firm in her own convictions.

She wondered if that’s when he’d decided he could use her. If he’d seen his anger reflected back in her own eyes, and decided to harness it right then and there. She wondered what Mystique saw. The anger wasn’t hidden beneath the surface anymore, it was written clear as day across her face. Rao, she was done being something other people thought they could mould to their desires.

“What do you think I’ve been doing?” She thought of concrete falling into the Hudson, and the look in Jon’s eyes as he’d fallen back on the couch. She was burning it all. With any luck, she’d have a firm enough foundation to build on top of when she was done. “I don’t need any more advice on how to build a home. People have been telling me how to do that since my own was destroyed years ago. Be human, put on these glasses, fit in, tell us your name, Supergirl. I’m done listening. I’ll burn whatever I want, thank you.”

/ .-- / .... / --- /

There was something very beautiful about an angry woman. A woman who refused to be soft and supple, who stood like steel and demanded the world answer to her. In all the years she had been alive, only a select few had managed to truly tap into the rage that boiled beneath the skin of every woman. But particularly the lost ones. The ones who were told to smile and take it, the ones who gave up everything for a world that treated them like dirt.

Supergirl was very beautiful tonight. With fire burning in her eyes and her hair falling around her shoulders and her hands clenched into fists. Of course Erik would’ve seen rage like this and found something useful. That’s precisely what she did when she first met him. 

Raven smiled gently at her. “Good,” she said. “Burn everything and anything, listen to no one but yourself. And never apologize,” she added, arching a brow. “It’s a pity you aren’t a Mutant after all. You’re very interesting, Supergirl.” It was one thing to say all this, but after all, the ‘hero’ had put her money where her mouth was. The bridges leading in and out of the city were sitting at the bottom of the bay now. She had furthered their cause even more than she possibly realized. Maybe one day they would return the favor. 

Raven turned on her heel, then paused a moment. She glanced back at that beautiful, angry woman, and she wanted to tell her so many things. Not thank you or I’m sorry or any of the sentimental bullshit that people spewed in lieu of anything important to say. She wanted to say Don’t let anyone use you, but... it was a bit late for that. And for her people, for Mutants? Raven would use anyone. Instead she gave one final nod, and strode away.

[mysteriousdumbass]

master-of-magnetism​:

She should be ecstatic.  They all should–yes, this was war, real and loud and ummissable, but they were winning.  But the enthusiasm was tepid at best amongst even those who had had such a big part in the plan, and it was contagious.  Things were going well, but it felt off, somehow.  Like the heavy silence before an ambush, or the calm in the eye of a hurricane.  Like the other shoe was waiting to drop.  

Erik had always been paranoid, though.  ( And too often, right. )

So was Raven, and her face was betraying none of the joy he’d hope to see–that he needed to see, from the woman who’d been at his side the whole path here, across years.  It was her dream every bit as much as his, but if her paranoia was going off like his?  It didn’t bode well. 

Neither did the smile she flashed his way when he nudged her about it.  Fake, and clearly so to a man who knew her as well as Erik did.  Her next words did provide a hint as to why, though, and Erik gave her a wry smile of his own as he joined her at the balcony.  “She seemed sympathetic to our cause, and when the opportunity arose to get her involved, I took it.  It makes our position more credible, to have a non-mutant hero take up our side of matters.”  

/ .-- / .... / --- /

Victory was hard to believe in, hard to trust. How many battles had been snatched away at the last second, falling into undeserving hands because of luck or fate or... Well, maybe Destiny was on her mind today, and that’s where this strange feeling in her chest came from. Maybe it was because Rogue wasn’t standing at her side. Maybe the day simply felt incomplete without her. 

She had never been a particularly optimistic person. She had lived far too long for that. Raven knew the world in ways that others only read or dreamed about, feeling sometimes like she was inside it and outside, able to look in and see all the dates unfold into history. Enough days go by and they all started to feel exactly the same, but every once in a while, a person or an event jumped out from the pages. Rogue. Erik. Charles. Days like this. 

Something told her this would be a moment to remember. 

“Did she?” Raven crooned, leaning back, hands gripping the railing. The breeze flung her hair back in a way that had her quite enjoying this new face. “I’m not denying the benefits of it, lover,” she said, smirking at him. “Just wondering why you kept it so secret? Do we still have trust issues?” She let out a small laugh and reached out, placing a hand on his arm. “I’m kidding,” she insisted gently. “What you’ve done today, Erik... You should be proud of it.” 

[mysteriousdumbass]

kittyproud​:

She’d known they’d hated her for her whole life. It had always been there, she had always felt it, but she hadn’t dealt with it head-on and organized like this since college. Then, it had been a dozen people at most, students with flyers and signs and laptop stickers. This was so much bigger than that. This was a whole city ready to feed.

Kitty smiled dryly at them, wishing for a second too long that it was acceptable for a young woman to carry katanas around the streets of New York City. Not to use, necessarily. Just for show. To make sure they knew she could hurt them, that she’d been learning to fight since she was a child, that she was sick and tired of putting up with them like this. And maybe to use. If she had to.

“Thanks,” she said, flinching at Raven’s touch, “but I’m not worried. I’ve got it under control.”

And then the crowd jeered, and a would-be attacker stood, shell-shocked, face to face with himself. He sneered and looked at Kitty expectantly, as if waiting for her to turn into him, too. She balled her hand into a fist in response.

“Oh, yeah,” she said. “I can do it, too. But I save my powers for people I actually want to be, so don’t hold your breath, dude.” 

/ .-- / .... / --- /

Raven reveled in the confusion and the chaos for a long moment. One beat, two. Kitty with her quip to the side. Then she pushed forward into the crowd, screaming and yelling. “He’s the one, he’s the one!” She pointed back at the original man, letting her mouth hang open with ‘horror.’ “The Mutant took my face! Get him!”

The man held up his hands, eyes darting wildly through the crowd. “No, no it wasn’t me, it wasn’t –” Was about all he had time for before a fist collided with his jaw. He stumbled back, blinking, and the crowd surged forward. He started to run just in time. 

Raven meanwhile picked her way back through, changing faces two or three times, then coming up to stand near Kitty. “Let’s leave them to tear each other apart, shall we?” 

[mysteriousdumbass]

apoisontouch​:

Everything that had happened in this war… it seemed to be for the next generation. For people like herself to have something more to hold onto — and it was a dream. One that Rogue wanted desperately to reach for… but was too scared of getting burned. Of making things worse or screwing it all up because Rogue had a knack of stepping in things she shouldn’t. Pressing down on stressors she didn’t realize where there — a knack of putting herself on the outside of all her friends because distance was always more comfortable than anything else. But it put her at odds with just about everyone in her life. (Only a few people cared enough to hold onto her despite all the running she did — a few people brave enough to have hope for someone like her.) 

Mystique had been one of those people early on. One of the few that looked at Rogue and thought she was someone to give attention to — a flower worth an ounce of water. No one had ever treated her with anything that resembled worth before Mystique, and under her influence, for a time, Rogue had blossomed. And she’d always feel that connection with her, always be drawn to her as any child would be to their mother.

But here, in the heart of a war, Rogue’s feelings were complicated. Helping the Professor and Erik was one thing — mostly because it felt like she was keeping them alive as much as she was fighting the war — doing something good with her time, not something simply destructive. Which she had worried about deeply. She had gone from killing people indiscriminately with the Brotherhood to worrying about how much blood she allowed on her hands. How much she took from people. Rogue was a hard person to love, and she had made no attempts to make it easy on anyone. 

“Our story,” Rogue said with almost too much ease, this wasn’t about her or Mystique, it wasn’t about any single one of them. They were a movement, a group of people fighting for a cause, with methods that didn’t sit well with anyone — but the only method they had to make people listen. To enact change. It had taken Rogue a long time to wrap her head around it — figuring what it all meant to her. What was needed for her to be happy with the outcome —

But Mystique’s hands were on her in a quick moment, shoving her harshly into the wall of safe house. That’s why they were there — that’s why their guard was down — this was supposed to be safe. A shot rang out that nearly silenced everything in the room. And then, her mother was on the floor. Blood dripping down her chin. Rogue stood there, silently, for a beat too long, her mind jumping around as if trying to figure out what had just happened. (She knew what it was. She had heard it. But was Mystique the target, or had it been Rogue?) 

Coming to her knees, Rogue tried to give Mystique support enough to stand, but her back was already wet with blood — too much of it. They wouldn’t make it out the door let alone to another place of safety. Swallowing her nerves, Rogue moved so that were eye to eye. “I don’t think runnin’… that ain’t happenin’.” Rogue’s eyes flickered towards the window that had the gunshot hole. She was going to have to fight them. Here. On her own. “Can ya move at all? I just need ya out of the middle of the room — I can take them.”

/ .-- / .... / --- /

Story. Legacy. History. Family. Love. Blood.

Her thoughts came quick, staccato-like. Just words, flashes, too bright and then too dark. Maybe for a lifetime. Maybe just for a few seconds. Anna Marie was there, the one constant, an anchor, no matter where in her mind she went, and when reality slammed back into her, when her eyes finally focused, Anna Marie was there. 

And they were still alive. 

Teeth clenched tightly, Mystique turned her head towards the window. It took more strength than she cared to admit, sent stars swimming around the corners of her eyes. The glass was shattered, a hole torn through. Was that what her back looked like, she wondered? Did her ribs look like shattered glass? Would that be how she was remembered? 

There was a tremble beneath her palms. Cutting through the pain with panic. Footsteps. A lot of them, hurrying up the stairs. “They know where we are,” she breathed, brows furrowed. “They’re –” She coughed, hacked blood onto the floor. Staring at those droplets spattered across the wood. Sinking into the grooves. Like the wood was drinking it up, greedily.

The world had been waiting for her death for a long time. 

Mystique sucked in a breath, forced her lungs to gather oxygen despite the burn. “No,” she said harshly, spitting the word. “Of course you can, my love,” she breathed, chest heaving. She used her last bit of strength to look Rogue right in the eye. “But you don’t have to.” A moment. The last moment they could both pretend they didn’t know. “I’m not making it out of this,” she said, sucking in air. “But you can. And you can make sure it wasn’t them that took me out.” A last stand with a twist. She might die, but she would die on her terms. She would die for the one thing no one ever thought her capable of. She would die for her daughter. She would die for love. “Take my powers,” she continued. “Take them, and get out of here. Carry on the story.” 

[mysteriousdumbass]

roi--des--voleurs​:

If there was anything good she had passed onto Rogue, maybe Mystique was not all bad. But Remy was still waiting to really see that from her herself. “Maybe not, considerin’ you cared enough ‘bout Anna t’ raise her well. Dat’s more dan I had in my youngest days.” Until he had been taken in by the Thieves’ Guild, Remy had had no one to look out for him but himself. For better or worse, at least Rogue had had a mother. He made a face at seeing her drop ash off the cigarette after having chastised him for that very thing. But he could not disagree with her about Rogue. “Good t'ing we can agree on dat. She’s de most unique person I ever met. An’ wit’ all de people I’ve met, dat’s sayin’ a lot.” I cared for her the most. Remy paused, unable to make any sort of comeback to that. How could he, when she was talking sincerely about Rogue? “I really hope you mean dat, femme. 'Cause no matter how I feel 'bout you, if you really feel dat way 'bout her, I’m willin’ t’ let a lotta t'ings slide.” That did not mean he was suddenly going to think she was a paragon of virtue, though, especially when she cast doubt on his statement of being able to live without Rogue. “Yeah, kinda figured we might not see eye t’ eye on dat,” he said, giving a sarcastic chuckle, “I guess dat means you jus’ ain’t met de person who’ll make you feel dat way. But for Anna’s sake…an’ even your own…I hope someday you will.”

/ .-- / .... / --- /

“She always felt like mine,” Raven mused. “But I surprised myself with her. My maternal aptitude leaves a little to be desired, I’m not delusional,” she said, chuckling low and throaty. “I’ve abandoned my children before, if it served my interests better. If it meant surviving. It was never easy, but I could do it. That’s the kind of person I am,” she said, shrugging a shoulder. “But something about Anna Marie... about my little Rogue...” A soft, bemused smile crossed her face. “She makes you want to stick around, doesn’t she?” She took a breath, inhaled deeply around the cigarette once more. Her eyes flicked to Remy’s. They were striking. “You’re young and in love,” she replied, the smoke curling out of her lips. “Of course you hope for that.” But what use did she have for love? It led to so much trouble, so much pain, so much grief. In the end, was it even worth it? 

[mysteriousdumbass]

apoisontouch​:

/

Conquer. Rogue had always known her mother to be like this, to reach for everything the world had to offer because in every page, mutants had been denied those privileges since they first. They had been the other. And that had always been painted in a dark and terrifying light. Something that Rogue could never shake — and a narrative, that frankly, she had helped create too. She had been so young when she joined the Brotherhood, and younger than that before she fumbled with her powers for the first time and caused her boyfriend to fall into a coma, one that he’d never recover from. And shortly after running away, she had her first kill as well. Accidental though it may have been, she had blood on her hands at an early age. 

And when she had been younger, she had been just as hungry as Mystique was now. But with time… it had faded for Rogue. Her time in the X-Men had softened her ideals to something more palpable, while Mystique’s hunger — her desire for power only grew with the years. And today was no different from that. They were on the precible of something new, of something meaningful that would shape both mutant and humankind forever. And she was already looking for the next move — the next step forward. And Mystique had already put a word to it. Conquer. Had that always been the end goal/ Is that what Erik wanted? Jean? Scott? Remy? Was it what she wanted? 

“Sounds like a dream, mamma,” Rogue whispered. But she knew that if Mystique had her hand on the wheel… it would slowly become a reality. And like the war they were fighting now, it would creep up on them… and no one would be the wiser until it was too late to turn back. (Would Mystique lead them like again? Forcing their hand? Or would she lead it more directly? Rogue.. she couldn’t say. She never knew with her mother.) 

Her own children… Mystique kept bringing it up like it would happen. But Rogue chewed the inside of her cheek, wondering if, not if she could be a mother… but if she should. She picked a different fight instead, “The story should always be told. When people forget — when they stop talkin’ about it…” It stopped being real. Time would pass and the sting would eventually hurt less, but Rogue would scream it from the rooftops before she let anyone forget. They didn’t do all this to become a footnote in history. “Ya think we have that much fight left in us?” 

/ .-- / .... / --- /

They had called her so many things over the years. Monster. Killer. Freak. Even among her own kind, there were whispers and rumors and reputations that preceded her. Selfish. Dangerous. Insane. And she disputed none of them, not a single one. She wore each one like another mask, another identity. And identities to her were simply tools to achieve a goal. 

Except for one.

Mamma. 

She had never really meant to wear that mask, but the second she slipped it on, she couldn’t take it off. It was always there, folded into the layers of herself. Slipping through in the strangest ways. Just today, when she was preparing for the U.N. she looked into a mirror and realized with a start that it was Anna Marie’s eyes staring back at her instead of the ambassadors. She’d corrected it quickly enough, of course, but it had been years since something like that had happened to her. Decades, even. 

Anna Marie was in her, deep down in the places no one else had even come close to. You can live without anything, she’d sneered to Remy, when he said he couldn’t imagine life without her. And Raven knew it was true, that she could survive anything, but would she want to? Maybe that was the more important question.

She hadn’t run when the fear overtook her. When that instinct kicked in, it was the love of her child that kept her anchored here. Caged? Or grounded? 

Questions for another day. 

Today, she smiled at Anna Marie. “It’s my dream for you,” she said, nodding. “Any mother would dream of that, wouldn’t they? A bright, big future for their darlings.” And now that was finally in reach, so close she could almost taste it, and surely nothing had been as sweet since Eve first bit into that forbidden apple. All the better because someone had told her no you can’t have this and she’d defied Him. She nodded slowly. “I think they’ll tell your story for a long, long time, my love,” she said, eyes brimming with pride. Another nod, more fervent this time. “Yes. You know better than to let them win,” she said, smirking lightly. “No daughter of mine...”

She trailed off, her brow knitting together. There was a second of silence, where the entire world tunneled down to one spot, one moment, one second, the second, the one right before. That moment people talked about afterwards, when they looked back and wished they could’ve done something. Changed something. The last second before tragedy.

A red dot was shining on Anna Marie’s chest. Right above her heart. Raven only saw it for a second, but that was long enough. She had time to think, time to decide, but she only needed that second. 

She shoved Anna Marie hard, jumping forward. “Get down!” she screamed, but anything else was cut off. She heard the crash of glass before she felt the white-hot metal strike her back. Her first thought was not so bad, I’ve had worse. And then her lungs burst into flames, and all the air was knocked out of her as it felt like a band was tightened around her ribs. She gasped and coughed, and something warm and sticky ran down her chin. Her vision swam for a moment, she stumbled forward onto her hands and knees. But she managed to pick her head up and blearily focus on the vague shape of Anna Marie. “We have to get out of here,” she coughed, blood still dripping from her mouth. 

[mysteriousdumbass]

roi--des--voleurs​:

//

Was that a compliment? It would have been more obvious if “surprisingly” had not been attached, but Remy would take what he could get where Mystique was concerned. “Nice t’ know you taught her somethin’ good,” Remy commented, leaning back in his chair. If Rogue’s desire to think for herself did come from Mystique, at least she had been a decent enough mother in that regard. Of course no empathy would have come from her, and Remy could not help but shake his head at how foreign that concept seemed to her. “Guess we should be glad she didn’t take dat much after you. But den you do care ‘bout her, don’ you? So maybe you know somet'ing 'bout empathy yourself.” Ordinarily he would be offended at the idea of being a “small fish,” but in the case of the Sentinels, Remy would not complain. “T'ank God for dat! When it comes t’ dem, I’d prefer t’ jus’ slip by unnoticed.” At Mystique’s question, he paused, debating how to answer. Remy doubted she would approve of anything he said, so there was no reason not to tell the truth. “O’ course I do,” he said, staring back at her through the smoke, “Dere was a time when I threw dat word 'round too much, when I didn’t know what it really felt like. But ever since meetin’ Rogue…now I know. It’s…It’s like she’s de missin’ part o’ me…my anchor, my safe place. She understands me, really understands me like no one else ever has. She sees past alla my bullshit…she sees me as I really am. An’ I…Mon Dieu. I can’t even t'ink o’ livin’ wit'out her.”

/ .-- / .... / --- /

“I suppose I’m not all bad, am I?” Raven said, her amused hum becoming a chuckle. She inhaled the smoke, and for a moment remembered how there was nothing in the world quite like this feeling. That thick taste, the shape of the smoke filling her mouth, trickling down her throat, into her lungs and out again. Completely unique. Breathing poison and not letting it touch her, not with her abilities. She wondered if love was like that. If it felt like nothing else in the world. If it was a poison she could breathe in, but never really touch. “Anna Marie is... unique,” she settled on finally, smoke trickling out of her lips. She took another drag, ashing carelessly. “There’s only been a handful of people I truly, sincerely cared for. But out of all of them... I cared for her the most.”  He spoke about her daughter as if she completed him, as if he’d never been aware of those missing parts until she came along to show him what it was like to be whole. Raven didn’t know if that was how she felt. If it was even how she felt with Destiny. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t picture a life without her, without anyone left. She could, and had lived through that very thing. People were so... impermanent. She thought of Ozymandias, half-buried in the desert. Look on my works, ye mighty and despair. What a fool he’d been in the end. “You can live without anything, darling,” she said, smirking lightly at him. “But it’s a nice thought. A very nice thought.” 

[mysteriousdumbass]

maidenxfmight​:

-

“I want what Erik wants. A home.” It was so simple, boiled down into just one word. It didn’t account for melted steal or rubble; broken hearts and families ruined fell on the outside, unacknowledged. It was a concept, a dream, a hope and it boiled sharp beneath her skin. It had been playing over and over again in her head since she’d first stepped into her pod, had shifted and changed as she had shifted and changed, and now…

Now it was a planet leveled, its people finally understanding how awful it was to try to cage lost things.

“Our interests align, for now.” She shrugged, ending her retreat to meet Mystique’s gaze. She didn’t like her curiosity, didn’t like how small the space remained between them. “That doesn’t make me a puppet, that just makes this convenient.”

/ .-- / .... / --- /

Raven tilted her head, watching the super carefully while she spoke. She had lived so long, dealt with so many liars, heard so many sob stories, pleas for mercy and forgiveness... She knew how to spot sincerity. “A home,” she repeated. “What kind of home?” She pressed forward with the question. “Someplace you feel safe? Someplace you don’t have to hide who and what you are? Someplace to raise your children or... someplace to find people like you?”

She straightened up, rolling her shoulders back. “Erik makes so many promises,” she mused, sighing lightly. “I wonder if he even realizes how desperate he is to please everyone. He’s at  his best, of course, when he focuses his talents on himself, but does he ever listen?” She tutted to herself. “My point is, darling dear, that ‘for now’ is all well and good. But will it last, even if what you want takes time?” Her eyes were narrow. “And sacrifice,” she added. “If you want to find a home, sometimes you have to be willing to burn another to the ground.” 

[mysteriousdumbass]

kittyproud​:

&

Kitty raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. “They have a lot of problems with me,” she said. “Truly, just spin the wheel, take your pick.” Jewish. Queer. Woman. Mutant. She wasn’t ashamed, but she knew that any single part of her identity gave her reason to be hated–and this siege had only added fuel to the fire. Today, they really hated her. Today, she might have given them reason to.

Up ahead, the protestors threw jeers and insults and inched closer to what Kitty feared was a real, proper attack. Next to Raven, she shrugged, trying to hide her fear with nonchalance. “What, did you actually think I was straight?”

/ .-- / .... / --- /

“Welcome to the club, boys,” Raven joked, glancing out over the unruly crowd. She scanned them, picking up what various bits of information she could gather. What she noticed most was how their eyes were all empty, bloodshot and unfocused. Like a shark’s eyes before the frenzy. 

She looked back at Kitty, betraying none of her suspicions and simply smiling at her. “Not for a second, love,” she said, stroking a hand across Kitty’s chin. She leaned in close. “This is going to go badly very soon. If you want to live long enough to meet yourself a nice girlfriend, you better phase out of here as fast as you can.” 

Behind her there was a jeer. Something violent and unintelligible, it didn’t really matter what was said. Raven straightened up, turning to stare the man in the eye. “Did you want to talk to me?” she asked. She shifted form, transforming into the man in front of her. It was always a shock to the system. “Or maybe you need to re-evaluate yourself, hmm?” 

[mysteriousdumbass]

@master-of-magnetism​  ❛ i don’t like your vibes today.  bad vibes ❜

Mystique stood on the balcony of Stark Tower. Would they still call it that, after what they’d done? It had changed names so many times before. Stark, Avengers, Stark again. Maybe this time they had broken the cycle. Mutant Tower, they could call it. If they so wished. Or it could be called nothing and just waste away, decay in plain view of the entire city as a monument to their failures. 

Human failures, that was. 

Because the sun was shining brightly on the Mutants today. And yet, Mystique leaned on the railing and her face showed no sign of glee or joy. A mask within a mask. That must’ve been what prompted Erik to follow her, to ask that question. “What do you mean, lover?” she asked, turning around with a wide smile, as false as the nails on every woman north of this tower. “I’m simply reveling in our soon-to-be victory.” Her eyes settled on his. “We made some very bold moves today. Together... and separately.” The corners of her lips curled more naturally now. “Supergirl was an interesting addition. I never suspected you could make use of her.”

[mysteriousdumbass]

@kittyproud​  ❛ this is an attack on me as a lesbian ❜

“Oh, so we’re using that word now, are we?” Raven asked stepping up beside the younger girl. She stared ahead at the protesters glaring at them. “Something tells me that’s not what their problem is,” she said, smiling wickedly. “But it’s so good to hear you accept yourself, Kitty-cat.” 

[mysteriousdumbass]

maidenxfmight​:

-

“Don’t.” Kara moved back ten feet in an instant, eyes burning red. She could still feel the phantom trace of her finger against her cheek, still hear the steady thump of her heart. She’d spent her day watching people run, and yet this woman stood curious, seemingly unperturbed. Erik had been much the same, sipping his scotch and meeting her eyes despite the papers flying around his office, and the red glow pulsing through her veins. She wondered if it was situational, or if they both knew she could turn buildings to rubble and could match her hit for hit.

Unlike Erik, however, she taunted. Her voice was sharp, her movements fluid. If Kara had to venture a guess, she’d think she was more sure of her place in the world than Erik. He was always fighting, loss rendering his grip on the present tenuous, more firm in his hope for the future. This woman looked like someone who never considered losing to be an option.

Kara could almost respect it. If she hadn’t stepped into her space, if she hadn’t called her pretty and chosen all in one breath. She wasn’t there to serve Erik’s orders, to fight his cause and forget her own. “I’m not his puppet, either.” Her eyes dimmed to their natural cool blue, “You want the same things, don’t you? You were with him at the U.N. Erik is so many words, but you…are you afraid I’ll ruin it?”

/ .-- / .... / --- /

Raven pulled her hand back, tsking under her breath. “So touchy,” she noted, tailing after the girl. But she kept her hands to herself this time, folded in front of her. Part of surviving was knowing how to pick your battles, and she always chose hers with the utmost care. 

She smirked lightly, tilting her head. “Really?” she asked, arching a brow. “It’s just a little hard to believe that, given the circumstances it took to get you here.” Of which, she was still faintly fuzzy on. She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know anything about you. I have no idea what is you want,” she said, eyes snapped to Supergirl’s. “But I’m very curious to find out.” 

[mysteriousdumbass]

master-of-magnetism​:

She crawled through the window onto the fire escape without hesitation, settling in at his side and wrapping one of her hands around his, and Erik let out a slow breath, forcing his hand to loosen around the collar.  “I know they are,” he murmured back before chuckling wryly.  “He almost killed me, too.”  Fortunately, Scott had intervened before they’d had to find out who’d have won out first.  But it’d been a near thing, a loss of control even before the collar that made him feel faintly nauseous.  

But she was right.  Of course she was.  It hadn’t been just him, it’d been countless New Yorkers.  Why some were more affected than others hadn’t been explained, and might not ever be explained.  But it hadn’t been just him.  This one had been well and truly out of his hands.  

He’d survived being powerless before, to far greater detriment than what had happened today.  He’d been without his powers, but he had them back now.  Scott and Alex and Lorna and everyone was alive, still.  That was better than it could’ve been by a long shot.  Erik brought his hand up to wrap around her wrist, where she had her palm to his cheek, and offered her a tired smile.  “You’ve certainly tried, my dear.  We’re getting there.”  Erik wasn’t one to let things go–anger or people.  They both knew ghosts dogged his steps more frequently than he’d care to admit.  But there had been progress, on that front, in the years since they’d met, thanks in no small part to Raven’s sharp way of nudging him back on course when he needed it.   “I’m glad you’re alright,” he said quietly. “I know you’re a survivor, but still.”

Erik let his vise-grip on the collar go, letting it drop into his lap, and shifted to wrap his arm around her shoulders, leaning his head in against hers.  She wouldn’t want to talk about whatever she’d seen, he knew, so he didn’t bother to ask. He turned the hand in his lap up to join with hers.  “I’m happy you came back, you know.”  Raven and Rogue were cut of the same cloth, disappearing for weeks and months at a time only to reappear when you least expected it.  

But Raven always came back, eventually.  No matter how badly they fell out or how long she was gone, she always came back.  And now more than ever, with the aftermath of that paralyzing fear burning in his throat and the promise of coming war on the horizon, that mattered.

Erik turned his thoughts to the kitchen, and moved the kettle onto the stove.  “I want you to look over some plans the kids and I have been working on.  After the kettle’s gone off.”  For now, sitting on the fire escape with her and letting himself recenter didn’t seem a bad way to spend a few minutes.

/ .-- / .... / --- /

There would always be ghosts. She couldn’t pretend she didn’t feel them, the chill of memory shocking and sudden, like the first melting droplet falling on your cheek. A cold winter’s kiss. She knew it well, that’s why she surrounded herself with so much life. Warm, passionate people, with beating hearts and a foolish hunger for a world she had long since grown weary of. 

Even now, as he was wrapped up in fear, what he failed to understand was how very alive it kept him. Fear wasn’t a bad thing, fear had a purpose. If it weren’t for fear, she would’ve been dead a long time ago, and felt dead even longer. He was still so young, when it came to himself. He still had such potential to tap into. 

His hand squeezed hers and she thought it was sweet. Like a baby clutching at its mother’s fingers. She smiled gently at him, pressed her lips to the top of his head. “My fearful leader,” she whispered, shaking her head slowly. “You’re the one who’s taken me farther than anyone ever has before.” They had led each other to the edge of the world and tested the unknown waters. And found that they didn’t topple over the side, but found a whole new life just waiting. They were so close to finding that distant shoreline now, the promised land. They were getting there indeed.

She moved when he did, the two shifting together, until they found their heads resting against each other. He released the collar and she moved it aside in almost the same moment. She wasn’t surprised to find his hand waiting open for hers. Their fingers laced together like they had been born for it. “Of course I did,” she said, smiling up at him. “You’re hopeless without me.” She laughed, like there wasn’t a real promise buried in her coy glance. She nodded at his request and turned her head to stare out ahead of them. The faint starlight hidden just behind the glow of the city.His pulse beating where their wrists were pressed together. His even breathing beside her, soft and ragged. But so alive. So very alive. 

[mysteriousdumbass]

apoisontouch​:

They were like magnets, sometimes, Rogue had realized early on. Pulling away form each other at a pace impossible for people to keep up with and coming back together with the same intensity. Family was a strange thing. And for all the things that Mystique had done in the past months — for all the bloodshed that had happened, there would always be that connection. One that, no matter how strained, now matter how frustrated, Rogue would never break. 

And even seeing the text message come across her phone brought her much needed relief. A small glimmer of something good happening while everyone was fighting for their lives. That hope barely outshined the darkness that had been swarming their lives, the truth about Central Park, her willingness to endanger others — to have Rogue’s friends murdered if it furthered the cause. That anger had deeper roots, but Rogue kept it at bay. Letting it simmer just beneath the surface. (She wondered what other people would blame that on, would they call her indecisive when it came to her mother? Or would they write her off completely?) 

Taking the hot chocolate that was offered, and then wrapped Mystique up in a half hug. “I’m glad ya safe, mama.” The topic shifted as quickly as Rogue had come to the door, and Rogue had to take a sip to make sure she didn’t comment in the middle. This had been the running reason for all of it, so that Rogue could live in a place without the same fear they’ve been carrying with them their whole lives. So that Rogue could raise her children in a safe place. But Rogue didn’t want that if it came at the expense of her friends. If she had to step over the bodies of the people she loved so that she could have a chance at peace. 

“Ya really believe this will work?” Rogue asked, not bothering to talk about sacrifices — Mystique, Rogue had known, gave up a lot to put her in this position to where she could do something, but Rogue had this nagging feeling that they’d lose something else there. That they were rushing towards a finale that could be devastating. “I want t’ believe that we’ve earned this, that this is — that this will be the end but…” Rogue shrugged. “It feels like the start of somethin’ else.”

/ .-- / .... / --- /

There was an excitement buzzing in her veins the likes of which she’d never felt before. All her life she had been directionless, just drifting through. Pausing here and there, but with no real purpose or place, not for so long. And then there was Charles, and Erik, and Destiny, and at the very peak, shining above all of them — her Anna Marie. 

 With the whole world stretched out in front of her. 

But there was that little taste of reality. That bittersweet tang, like blood on the tongue, so sharp it spoiled everything else. She hadn’t given her the whole world. Just a piece of it. Bigger, perhaps, than anything Raven had ever known, but still.

A cage. 

She set her mug down. Crossed the kitchen to hold Anna Marie’s face in her hands. “It is the start of something,” she agreed. “It’s only the beginning. It’s part of our life cycle. First we show ourselves to the humans, and then we conquer them bit by bit. They’ve always known it would come, why do you think they’ve pushed us down so far? While raising the Avengers and the Justice League on the pile of rubble their leave behind, making statures to them, worshiping them, when our people are forgotten and abused?” She paused, stroking a hand through her daughter’s hair. “While our children are given nothing, no place in this world at all. They tried to take it all from us, tried to cage us in, tricked us into caging ourselves and singing about it.” She made a face, shaking her head. “But you, my darling, my beautiful one, you will taste more freedom than I’ve ever known,” she whispered. 

A small smile slipped onto her face. “There’s still so far to go. So many places left to conquer. But you are a warrior, my wild heart. Someday, you’ll be having a conversation like this with your own daughter, and you’ll realize that everything you’ve been through has been worth it. And she’ll pass it on and on and on. Until the story doesn’t need to be told anymore.” She kissed the top of Rogue’s head. “You don’t ever have to earn your place in the world, Anna Marie. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise. The whole wide world already belongs to you, they just don’t know it yet.”