T4T Ororo/Jean
@that-final-garnish as you requested, kind sir. Note that this contains mentions of transphobia and transmisogynoir. Also, this is my first time actually writing Ororo, so I would love to hear (constructive) feedback if anyone has any! (:
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“You look beautiful,” Jean tells her, peering at Ororo’s reflection in the long, ornate mirror. Her gaze follows down the line of Ororo’s body and the heavy satin gown draped upon it. Its single sleeve wraps tightly across her chest, its asymmetry helping to camouflage her broad shoulders, and below the high waistline the loosely pleated skirt falls to pool at her feet. One of her legs peaks out where a pleat is cinched to sit higher than the rest. Pearl white, the dress almost glows against Ororo’s deep complexion.
It’s perfect. Accentuates her body in all the right ways. With her thick, full curls cascading from above her head down across her shoulders, she’s perhaps never felt more beautiful.
And yet.
“I am not sure that the men at this gala will see what you are seeing, my dear.” She tries to say it with levity, like it’s nothing more than a little joke between them, but fails to conceal the sadness underneath.
Jean, on the other hand, manages to keep her tone teasing and light. “Since when does Ororo Munroe, the great Storm Goddess, care what men like these think?” Ororo watches as she glides her finger down a curl before tucking it sweetly behind Ororo’s ear.
“Since securing their favor is crucial to securing our freedom.”
Though this is true, Jean is right. She does not usually give more than a passing thought about what others see when they look at her. It has taken many years, but she knows who she is, and she walks with confidence in that identity now.
Despite that, though, moments like these still creep up on her, when shadows slither from the dust-covered corners of her mind and make her see herself the way she knows that they do. Even in this lovely dress, she’s thinking of her height, her strong jawline. All the little features they will pick up on, and because of them, determine that she is nothing more than a man playing dress up.
Jean’s warm hands slide down her exposed arms, and Ororo sighs at the comforting touch, leaning back into the other woman.
“You are a goddess, Ororo. Don’t let these ignorant fools make you forget that.”
“How do you never seem to waiver in the face of it?” she asks.
Jean looks away to ponder, and Ororo takes that moment to examine the redhead in their reflection, as she has done so many times before.
Jean is shorter, only 5’8”, an acceptable height for a woman, and her features are softer. More than anything, she has the benefit of her whiteness, which affords her the opportunity to be seen as someone soft, delicate. Ororo, with her warm, dark skin, does not have this luxury.
She knows that this is what lies at the core of their differences, even if they so rarely name it.
“Because,” Jean turns her gaze back to Ororo, having found her answer, “I know that if I waiver, I’m letting them win. And I’ve worked too hard—we’ve worked too hard to survive, to just let them steal a victory like that.”
Ah, Jean. Forever the motivational speaker. Always there when Ororo needs one most. The truth of her words inflames her, drying up the melancholy in her chest and sparking Ororo’s tenacity back to life.
She takes a deep breath, then turns to meet Jean’s green eyes, a determined storm brewing in her own. Bringing her thumb to Jean’s cheek, she swipes over the silken skin and watches as the other woman’s eyes flutter closed for a moment. “Thank you, darling.”
Emerald glimmers back at her. “Any time, my goddess.”
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Read on AO3.
Ororo's dress inspo below the cut! (':
