𝕼𝖚𝖔𝖙𝖍 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕽𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖓 | 𝕸𝖊𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖎𝖊 𝕷𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖈 𝕺𝖗𝖎𝖌𝖎𝖓𝖘
Hello my lovelies! This is gonna be the start of a new series on here, where I codify the origins of my X-Men OC Melanie in fic form! I'll be posting here and on AO3 eventually*, and I'm so excited to share it with you. This is my first time writing and posting a fic publicly, so please feel free to give me constructive criticism or share any insights you may have! So, without further ado, I am proud to present:
ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔒𝔫𝔢: 𝔒𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔘𝔭𝔬𝔫 𝔄 𝔐𝔦𝔡𝔫𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔇𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔶
Warning, this media contains: Violence, canon-typical (anti-mutant) bigotry, alcohol use, and strong language. Reader discretion is advised.
*Want to read this on AO3? Have a link! https://archiveofourown.org/works/69018851/chapters/178832696 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Tonight was a good night.
The warm glow from behind the bar counter painted her face in soft shades of yellow and red, turning her blue eyes to a pale green-ish color in their light. Melanie brought her glass to her lips, savoring the burn as the liquor went down. Tonight was a really good night. She wasn’t too far from home, in a little place off Bedford that had cheap drinks and didn’t judge. They never said it, but they never turned away anyone at the door, no matter how ratty your coat was. They’d even let her crash in the back once when a really bad blizzard had gone through.
Melanie was here to celebrate tonight; this drink was her dessert, because she’d made enough tonight to pay for a real, hot meal. Not a bad day for a street thief. When all you have are your sticky fingers, days like today feel like a national holiday. She even had enough to grab the subway home, instead of having to walk. She took another sip of her vodka soda, humming softly as the buzz settled over her. Being drunk was always a strange experience for her. Other people got sleepy or giggly when they drank, but Melanie? Booze seemed to open her up to everyone around her. Their thoughts drifted in like voices through radio static—bite-sized pieces of other lives, there for a flash and then gone. Love. Hate. Sadness. Joy. She couldn’t say she liked it. But she couldn’t help it. Her control always slipped a little when she was buzzed.
She was lifting her glass to her lips again, when a sudden barrage of thoughts exploded through her mind. Hurry—shut up—keep it hidden—it’s almost time—Melanie felt her blood run cold. The thoughts slithered and hissed, dripping with malice. Dread latched its claws into her stomach. She stood up so fast she almost overturned her stool, trying to flee. But as she did, the door swung open, and a quintet of men dressed in food delivery uniforms entered. The one in front with a scruffy straw-colored beard looked to the bartender, asking where he and his boys—that’s how he phrased it, “me and my boys”—could drop off their package. Not delivery. Package. Fuck. This could get bad.
The bartender looked a little unsure, but directed them to the loading dock and mercifully, the men filed out. Melanie didn’t hesitate. She slapped down her money, grabbed her bag and coat, and made a beeline for the door.
She knew Friends of Humanity when she saw them.
She had gotten the door open and was just about to make a run for it down the street, when she crashed headfirst into a broad chest. She toppled back, tripping over her feet, and would’ve crashed into the floor if a pair of large hands hadn’t caught her shoulders.
“Whoa! I’m so sorry, ma’am, are you alright?” A tall, square-jawed man helped to right her, his eyes hidden behind a pair of red-tinted glasses. Melanie, still rattled from the collision and the adrenaline, spluttered a minute before responding.
“O-oh! No sweat, man, I’m fine.” She said, dusting herself off. She must’ve looked like she’d seen a ghost, because the man’s brow furrowed in worry. Her eyes flicked past him, and she realized he was part of a group: behind him stood a short, grumpy-looking man in a flannel, a cigar clamped between his teeth; a tall, redheaded woman with striking green eyes, her hand on the bespectacled man’s shoulder; another man in a brown leather jacket, with dark hair and an easy smile on his face; and a girl not much younger than her, with a bright yellow coat, retro visor shades, chewing bubblegum like it was nothing.
“Don’t mind him, he’s got bad eyes,” The girl in the yellow coat joked, and it must’ve been a running joke, because the man with the red glasses sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. The girl pushed up her shades and smiled warmly at Melanie. “Hey girl, I’m sorry if this sounds, like, totally weird, but did you just see a bunch of dudes dressed like delivery men?”
Melanie’s hair stood on end. Were these people with them? Fuck, if that was the case, she needed to get out of here now. She moved to push past them, her eyes darting around wildly to try and see if any of them would attempt to stop her, when she and the redheaded woman locked eyes.
The effect was instant. Like a head-on collision, Melanie’s telepathy rebounded, and all at once, she and the woman knew each other like sisters. Mind reader. Telepath. Mutant. They were the same. It was so intense the room spun, Melanie’s skin prickling like her whole body had fallen asleep.
Melanie shook herself, and the woman did too, as she’d stumbled back from the psychic reverb. She and Melanie regarded the other with surprise and awe. Though Melanie didn’t relax. The redheaded woman moved to speak, addressing the man with the glasses. “Scott—”
“You need to leave,” Melanie said immediately. Despite the incredible psychic power she felt from the woman, she wasn’t about to send what was now clearly a group of mutants to their deaths. If the FoH was here, it didn’t matter what their powers were. They’d find a way to kill them, and it was likely the innocent bar patrons would suffer, too. “The men you’re looking for, they’re—”
“Friends of Humanity scumbags. We know, lady.” The man with the cigar said gruffly. He took a drag and blew a smoke cloud that sent the girl in the yellow coat coughing. “Ain’t nothin’ we ain’t seen before. So just stay outta the way and let us handle the goons.”
The man in the brown jacket grinned. “Don’t worry, Hit-and-Run,” he said with a wink. “More to us than what meets the eye. Especially with Scotty.”
Scott opened his mouth to say something in retort, and Melanie moved to finally get the hell out of this place. But then she saw the redheaded woman pale, and suddenly she was being shoved out of the way. She barely had time to register the woman’s scream of “Look out!”. One moment she was nearly free, the next, a place that had sheltered her for years erupted into chaos.
The Friends of Humanity had shouted to their cohorts that they had company—how they knew they were mutants, Melanie had no idea—the short, hairy man unleashed wicked silver claws with a snikt—the man wit the glasses had swapped them out for a bright yellow visor, and fired a powerful laser back at the goons with their strange purple arm blasters—the redheaded woman summoned immense psychic energy as she, the girl in the yellow coat, and the man in the jacket charged.
Melanie was frozen for a moment. Confused, disoriented, afraid…angry. Those sons of bitches. The Friends of Humanity truly couldn’t let anyone catch a goddamn break. This was the one place that had made her feel safe in years. She knew these people. She could see them—regulars, some who bought her drinks on occasion, or gave her coins for the jukebox, the veterans who were homeless, too—cowering under tables or worse, from the blasts from their gauntlets. Motherfuckers!
Melanie lifted herself from the floor, gathering her wits as she turned to the battle. Fists, claws, fireworks, psychic blasts, and lasers flew in volley after volley, her fellow mutants doing their best to protect the patrons and beat the FoH back. Melanie rushed forward, and felt the familiar burn in her eyes—just like the feeling you get when tears are about to fall—and she knew her eyes had become ink-black as the buzz of both the alcohol and her powers surged forward.
There was a crackle and a crash as Melanie’s telekinesis ripped a gauntlet blaster away from one goon and slammed the other into a wall. She ducked under a swipe from the man with the claws and levied a kick to the chest of another extremist, which sent him tumbling backward over the bar counter. Pain suddenly exploded in her back, with the smell of singed hair and melted fabric. Bastard had shot her. She turned, baring a fanged grimace, as she yanked the man towards her with her powers, levying a punch across his jaw that laid him out flat.
“Heh, not half bad, lady!” Came the gruff voice of the man with the claws. “Figures we’d find a broad as tough as you in a place like this. Small world.” He slashed through another goon’s gun. “Fuckin’ Sentinel tech; these bastards have way too much of this shit.”
“Not for long,” Scott said sternly as he and the redheaded woman rounded up the remaining Friends of Humanity. But as they did, the man that Melanie had kicked over the bar staggered to his feet, and made a last dash for the door.
“We got a runner!” Chimed the man in the brown jacket—well, not anymore, seeing as he’d suddenly transformed into a woman who was some kind of ninja with a sword made of glowing pink energy. He—she?—leapt after the escapee, but missed. But Melanie was hot on the fleeing terrorist’s heels.
She exploded out into the chilly evening, looking wild and enraged as she chased him. Melanie reached out with her powers, yanking the man off balance and sending him tripping and skidding into an alleyway, where he crashed against a dumpster, sliding to the ground panting and swearing.
“You goddamn dirty mutie!” He snarled at Melanie’s approach, blood dripping from a cut on his forehead and sweat slicking his skin. His breath came out in steaming huffs, curling away into the icy air. He spat in her direction. “You’re a goddamn demon. A freak of nature. Even if we don’t put you down, someone will, you filthy mutant bitch.”
Melanie narrowed her eyes at him. “For someone who wants to protect humanity so bad, you sure put a lot of those innocent people in danger.” She said coldly. The man’s face purpled in rage, and he opened his mouth to retort, but suddenly his jaw snapped shut not of his own accord. Melanie glared down at him with her blackened eyes.
“You know, I kind of get it,” She said, crouching down in front of the man. “You’re scared. I would be, too, knowing there’s people like me out here.” Her eyes narrowed, and the man squirmed. “People that can make your body do things against your will…people that could get in your head and make you forget anything, like how fucking hateful you are, how bigoted, how cowardly.” His jaw clenched tighter, enough that she could hear his teeth creak. “I could kill you,” Melanie said. “Or destroy your mind.” She let him sweat a bit. Then she straightened, and the man gasped, released from her telepathic hold.
“But that wouldn’t fix anything,” She said sternly. “You’d just be a martyr. So I want you to live. Live, knowing a dirty mutie spared your life. That someone you think is so beneath you has more kindness in her than you do in your little finger.” Using her powers, she tore a piece of metal free from a nearby railing and used it to pin him there by his shirt. “Have fun telling the cops what an asshole you are.”
She turned to go, and was met with the group from the bar racing around the corner.
“There you are!” Exclaimed the redheaded woman. Her eyes darted between Melanie and the pinned FoH goon, looking pleasantly surprised. “Nice job. Are you hurt?”
Melanie shook her head. “No, I’m good. What about everyone at the bar?”
The girl in the yellow coat piped up. “All good! Nothing worse than some bruises or burns. We called an ambulance, stayed with them until the cops showed up.” She leaned past Melanie and whistled at her handiwork. “Dang. Kudos to you, girl, you got skills.”
Melanie flustered a bit. She’d just been angry. She was honestly a little miffed at herself; losing her temper like that was dangerous out here on these streets, even if she was justified. “I just wanted to keep people safe.” She said, “That place has been my watering hole for a while now.”
“Still, you held your own. Most people would’ve frozen in that scenario.” Scott said. “And because of you, those people in the bar didn’t get more hurt, or worse. That’s nothing to sneeze at.” Scott took in her ragged appearance. “Do you have somewhere safe to stay tonight?”
Melanie bristled at that. She’d already attracted way too much attention, and she didn’t need any handouts. They were nice, but she wasn’t a charity case. “Yes,” She said, a little too sharply. “Look, I’m a big girl and I’ve got enough for the subway. I don’t need a babysitter.”
The redheaded woman frowned. “That may be true,” She said. “But we’re not trying to make you into our project. We’re trying to help. We mutants have to stick together, don’t we?”
Melanie tensed at that. Mutants stick together, always and forever. She shook the memory from her mind, unable to meet their gazes.
“We won’t force you,” Scott said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a business card. “But if you need a safe place, come find us.”
Melanie took the card, looking at the glossy blue letters on the silver card stock. An X within a circle was embossed on the back, but it was the words on the front that gave her pause.
Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, 1407 Graymalkin Lane, Westchester, New York, Salem Center.
“Just think it over.” The girl in the yellow coat tossed over her shoulder as she and the others began to walk away, waving at Melanie with a sympathetic look on her face.
“Wait!” Melanie called out. She read the card a second time, then a third. “This place…it’s a school for mutants, right?”
Scott nodded. “And a safe haven. A place to be yourself, to learn about your powers, without the risks of life out here.”
Melanie gripped the card tightly. Alright then. Her mind was made up.
“I’m coming with you.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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