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femslashficlets2020-05-20 08:09 am
ilthit) wrote in femslashficlets2020-05-20 08:09 am
Entry tags:
[Tarot] Stronger (Original)
Title: Stronger
Fandom: Original
Pairing: Flesh/Scold
Rating: teen
Prompt: Strength
Word Count: 647
Summary: I dug up some grisly grunge superhero OCs I thought about in the '00s for this one. Contains grotesque mutations and depression.
Scold watched Flesh quietly from the doorway of the Collective's common room. The shapeshifter was curled up on the worn sofa, her skin breaking off in a tendrils that waved in the air as if touched by invisible wind. It had been a rough week for everyone.
At least today the Scold's team-mate had no staring eyes opening at random places of her body, nor were parts of her body grotesquely overextended. Sometimes when Flesh found it difficult to find the words to express herself, for example—which was often—the mutant girl would elongate her neck, making the jugular poke out at sharp angles. When she felt despair, a gaping mouth with teeth would open in her belly.
Today, she looked almost like a normal woman, soft-bellied, honey-blonde, tired, and naked as the day she was born. She was beautiful in the ordinary way, today, instead of like the angel of terror she became when something threatened the Collective.
Flesh wore her heart on her skin.
Scold could taste her past on her tongue, that struggle between God's will and the futility of flesh, and behind it the beatings, the fracturing of her sense of self. She couldn't shut it out, so she let the knowledge wash over her and transform into compassion. "You want a cup of coffee?" Scold asked. "Or tea—I've still got that mint and raspberry blend if you ever change your mind."
Flesh blinked at her and then smiked. "Coffee would be nice."
Scold headed off to the kitchen to wash the coffee pot and get another batch brewing. As she waited for her tea to seep, she picked up on Venus arguing with his boyfriend over the telephone, two doors down. "Not my boyfriend," Venus would say if she ever brought Jonas up with him. Complicated emotions. Love that tried to trammel itself into one kind or another without opening its eyes and seeing what was there.
The love in Scold's heart was all her own. Her power picked up only on the negative—on insecurity and pain. On Venus's sexual desperation. On Gangrene's deep heartbreak. On Flesh's rambling journeys in the deep black pits of her depression.
On all the weak points of their enemies' psyches.
The others didn't feel sorry for Scold the way they did for Flesh. Scold was fine with that, most days. She'd cope. She'd find ways. The others needed her to be strong, and being needed kept her going, kept her rooted in reality. Reminded her that love was still stronger than fear.
The smell of coffee made her think of mornings and triggered a yawn, though it was past noon. The television turned on in the common room, a murmur of a newscaster's voice. It was unnecessary – Eyes would be looking out for any sign of danger, or any problem they'd need to address. They all needed a rest.
Scold curled two of her long, thin fingers around the cup's ear, drawing in the heat and the bitter smell. Flesh liked her coffee black.
She sat up as Scold handed her the cup, the tendrils retreating back into her skin. "Thank you," she said with another soft, rare smile.
Her skin was perfect. The shadows under her eyes were the colour of bruises, but no veins pulsated on the back of her neck. None of the minute physical signs of her self-hatred appeared. Her mind, in Scold's mind, was a vibrating hum, something like pleasure on its radar. The rest was lost to her. That was good.
She rested a hand on Flesh's arm and stroked it with her thumb, eliciting a soft "Mmm" as she sipped her coffee. "I love you," Scold said, because she did. So, so much. More than Flesh would ever know or understand.
Flesh said nothing, but Scold's power also picked up nothing, and that was answer enough.
Fandom: Original
Pairing: Flesh/Scold
Rating: teen
Prompt: Strength
Word Count: 647
Summary: I dug up some grisly grunge superhero OCs I thought about in the '00s for this one. Contains grotesque mutations and depression.
Scold watched Flesh quietly from the doorway of the Collective's common room. The shapeshifter was curled up on the worn sofa, her skin breaking off in a tendrils that waved in the air as if touched by invisible wind. It had been a rough week for everyone.
At least today the Scold's team-mate had no staring eyes opening at random places of her body, nor were parts of her body grotesquely overextended. Sometimes when Flesh found it difficult to find the words to express herself, for example—which was often—the mutant girl would elongate her neck, making the jugular poke out at sharp angles. When she felt despair, a gaping mouth with teeth would open in her belly.
Today, she looked almost like a normal woman, soft-bellied, honey-blonde, tired, and naked as the day she was born. She was beautiful in the ordinary way, today, instead of like the angel of terror she became when something threatened the Collective.
Flesh wore her heart on her skin.
Scold could taste her past on her tongue, that struggle between God's will and the futility of flesh, and behind it the beatings, the fracturing of her sense of self. She couldn't shut it out, so she let the knowledge wash over her and transform into compassion. "You want a cup of coffee?" Scold asked. "Or tea—I've still got that mint and raspberry blend if you ever change your mind."
Flesh blinked at her and then smiked. "Coffee would be nice."
Scold headed off to the kitchen to wash the coffee pot and get another batch brewing. As she waited for her tea to seep, she picked up on Venus arguing with his boyfriend over the telephone, two doors down. "Not my boyfriend," Venus would say if she ever brought Jonas up with him. Complicated emotions. Love that tried to trammel itself into one kind or another without opening its eyes and seeing what was there.
The love in Scold's heart was all her own. Her power picked up only on the negative—on insecurity and pain. On Venus's sexual desperation. On Gangrene's deep heartbreak. On Flesh's rambling journeys in the deep black pits of her depression.
On all the weak points of their enemies' psyches.
The others didn't feel sorry for Scold the way they did for Flesh. Scold was fine with that, most days. She'd cope. She'd find ways. The others needed her to be strong, and being needed kept her going, kept her rooted in reality. Reminded her that love was still stronger than fear.
The smell of coffee made her think of mornings and triggered a yawn, though it was past noon. The television turned on in the common room, a murmur of a newscaster's voice. It was unnecessary – Eyes would be looking out for any sign of danger, or any problem they'd need to address. They all needed a rest.
Scold curled two of her long, thin fingers around the cup's ear, drawing in the heat and the bitter smell. Flesh liked her coffee black.
She sat up as Scold handed her the cup, the tendrils retreating back into her skin. "Thank you," she said with another soft, rare smile.
Her skin was perfect. The shadows under her eyes were the colour of bruises, but no veins pulsated on the back of her neck. None of the minute physical signs of her self-hatred appeared. Her mind, in Scold's mind, was a vibrating hum, something like pleasure on its radar. The rest was lost to her. That was good.
She rested a hand on Flesh's arm and stroked it with her thumb, eliciting a soft "Mmm" as she sipped her coffee. "I love you," Scold said, because she did. So, so much. More than Flesh would ever know or understand.
Flesh said nothing, but Scold's power also picked up nothing, and that was answer enough.