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fan_flashworks2022-02-22 07:02 pm
apachefirecat) wrote in fan_flashworks2022-02-22 07:02 pm
Entry tags:
Waiting/Screw/Protection/Drop Challenges: X-Men: Fan Fic: A Goddess' Tears
Title: A Goddess' Tears
Fandom: X-Men
Author: Apache Firecat
Characters: Storm, Ensemble
Rating: PG-13/T
Summary: The dreamers try and cry.
Word Count: 1097
Written For: Fan FlashWorks: 363: Amnesty: 346: Waiting, 344: Screw, 342: Protection, and 318: Drop
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
Logan's growling. Even Jubilee's spitting, "Screw that," as they all stalk off the Blackbird together. Tensions are high, and they're all angry tonight.
Ororo wishes she could just let go. For just once, she wishes she could let go of all the tension building in her body, in her soul, and in those she loves. She wishes she could let go and wipe humanity from the face of the planet -- no, not all humanity, just the evil ones, just the ones like those Friends of Humanity who caused so many hundreds of mutant deaths today. She looks sorrowfully back in the direction they've just come reflecting that at least it wasn't millions this time.
But it will be. They all know that it's only ever a matter of time before another catastrophe strikes their people. Beast is loping away while Charles glides more softly along the grounds. Remy's already into his drinks, and he's passing Scott one. Logan's claws are unsheathed, and he's headed for the woods. Warren takes flight while Bobby uses one of ice slides to escape as rapidly as he can. Bishop wields his gun, and she knows he takes comfort in the big, cold, and hard metal around which his dark, strong hands are currently wrapped firmly.
They all have their own ways of coping with things, with death and tragedy, with sorrow and pain. But most of them do not understand what it is like to never be able to let go. She wishes she could just scream and scream and scream until her throat is hoarse and raw. She wishes she could fly and pound something until she could no longer move. She wishes she could have wiped all of those Friends of Humanity members forever away from the earth in a tornado, a hurricane, or even a blizzard.
Instead the only sign of the emotions Ororo is feeling are the winds steadily rising. Rogue glances at her and has to swipe a strand of her hair out of her green eyes. "Are you all right, Stormy?"
"No, Rogue," Ororo answers, a little more sharply than she'd intended. "None of us are."
"At least stopped them," Jean ventures.
"But for how long? How long until they try again? How long until we fail to stop them? That's the problem with allowing people like them to live: They will always come again. They will always hurt our people again. They will always kill innocents again."
Storm pushes off of the ground. She soars rapidly up into the night sky, and for a long while, she just flies. She flies, her eyes closed as she lets Mother Nature engulf her. She flies through the clouds and sweeps along the same currents as night hawks and bats. She dips and soars along for a while with a family of nightjars before they start dipping, heading after worms. She draws comfort from the wind rushing all over her and pulls strength from the heat of the lightning bolts cutting pink, jagged fingers all around her.
Thunder roars her pain and sorrow alike. The wind howls for her, grieving for all those lost. Humans hurry indoors, but her people, the mutants, the African Americans, the single mothers, the homeless, the truly innocent and needy, they may cringe a little at the lightning, but they do not hide indoors. Instead they lift their faces to the water, letting it wash over them and wash away the haggard heat of the day.
She soars. She flies. And what she does not realize is that she is watched by many. Rogue watches her from her window. Logan strips off his clothes and runs, naked, through the forest as the storm rages. Scott has actually decided to sit with Remy for the evening, a clear sign to how troubled he is tonight as they toss back beers together. Even Sabertooth, not too far away, howls and throws his head back in the pouring rain.
Bishop works on his gun for the light of her bolts, not bothering to switch on an actual light. Jean watches from the docks. Jubilee's left her game behind to watch the storm instead, her gloved fingers pressing to the cool windowpane as she watches the power Storm emits. The older, gentler lady is so full of power it seems to scream from her sometimes even when she doesn't speak a word or move a muscle, but even now as she's letting that power ripple through the entire environment, she does so gracefully. She almost seems to be dancing through the clouds as she...
Grieves, Jubilee recognizes. They all have their own ways of dealing with pain and sorrow, of grieving for those they've lost personally and of whom they're always reminded on a night like tonight, when they lost far too many of their own kind. They all have their own ways of unleashing, but none are as beautiful and few as deadly, she thinks, as Ororo Munroe. There are no words to describe her grace, but in watching her, Jubilee can certainly see why she was once worshipped as a Goddess back in the wilds of Africa.
Ororo, too, remembers those nights. She recalls the people she let down, the people she swore she'd never let down again once she came to the States and learned all the great Professor Charles Xavier had to teach her. He has taught her so much, but he still hasn't taught her how to make it all end. He hasn't taught her, because he doesn't know himself. He doesn't know how to make the pain, the hatred, and the fear end. That's why the X-Men are still here. That's why they're still fighting.
And that's why every one of them will come back again tomorrow and continue the fight. They are all waiting, and they are all trying, fighting with everything that they are and can do, all the powers and resources they possess, to make his dream a reality, to make their dream a reality. Living in peace shouldn't be too much to ask, after all. It shouldn't be too much. Yet on nights like tonight, it does seem like it is.
It seems an impossible dream, and so the dreams cry out in their own ways. Ororo's tears fall from Heaven, great, wet plops of moisture that falls on them all, marking each of them, and crying for them all, for all of them, for all those they've lost, and all those they will yet lose. Crying, in her own way, for their whole world.
The End
Fandom: X-Men
Author: Apache Firecat
Characters: Storm, Ensemble
Rating: PG-13/T
Summary: The dreamers try and cry.
Word Count: 1097
Written For: Fan FlashWorks: 363: Amnesty: 346: Waiting, 344: Screw, 342: Protection, and 318: Drop
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
Logan's growling. Even Jubilee's spitting, "Screw that," as they all stalk off the Blackbird together. Tensions are high, and they're all angry tonight.
Ororo wishes she could just let go. For just once, she wishes she could let go of all the tension building in her body, in her soul, and in those she loves. She wishes she could let go and wipe humanity from the face of the planet -- no, not all humanity, just the evil ones, just the ones like those Friends of Humanity who caused so many hundreds of mutant deaths today. She looks sorrowfully back in the direction they've just come reflecting that at least it wasn't millions this time.
But it will be. They all know that it's only ever a matter of time before another catastrophe strikes their people. Beast is loping away while Charles glides more softly along the grounds. Remy's already into his drinks, and he's passing Scott one. Logan's claws are unsheathed, and he's headed for the woods. Warren takes flight while Bobby uses one of ice slides to escape as rapidly as he can. Bishop wields his gun, and she knows he takes comfort in the big, cold, and hard metal around which his dark, strong hands are currently wrapped firmly.
They all have their own ways of coping with things, with death and tragedy, with sorrow and pain. But most of them do not understand what it is like to never be able to let go. She wishes she could just scream and scream and scream until her throat is hoarse and raw. She wishes she could fly and pound something until she could no longer move. She wishes she could have wiped all of those Friends of Humanity members forever away from the earth in a tornado, a hurricane, or even a blizzard.
Instead the only sign of the emotions Ororo is feeling are the winds steadily rising. Rogue glances at her and has to swipe a strand of her hair out of her green eyes. "Are you all right, Stormy?"
"No, Rogue," Ororo answers, a little more sharply than she'd intended. "None of us are."
"At least stopped them," Jean ventures.
"But for how long? How long until they try again? How long until we fail to stop them? That's the problem with allowing people like them to live: They will always come again. They will always hurt our people again. They will always kill innocents again."
Storm pushes off of the ground. She soars rapidly up into the night sky, and for a long while, she just flies. She flies, her eyes closed as she lets Mother Nature engulf her. She flies through the clouds and sweeps along the same currents as night hawks and bats. She dips and soars along for a while with a family of nightjars before they start dipping, heading after worms. She draws comfort from the wind rushing all over her and pulls strength from the heat of the lightning bolts cutting pink, jagged fingers all around her.
Thunder roars her pain and sorrow alike. The wind howls for her, grieving for all those lost. Humans hurry indoors, but her people, the mutants, the African Americans, the single mothers, the homeless, the truly innocent and needy, they may cringe a little at the lightning, but they do not hide indoors. Instead they lift their faces to the water, letting it wash over them and wash away the haggard heat of the day.
She soars. She flies. And what she does not realize is that she is watched by many. Rogue watches her from her window. Logan strips off his clothes and runs, naked, through the forest as the storm rages. Scott has actually decided to sit with Remy for the evening, a clear sign to how troubled he is tonight as they toss back beers together. Even Sabertooth, not too far away, howls and throws his head back in the pouring rain.
Bishop works on his gun for the light of her bolts, not bothering to switch on an actual light. Jean watches from the docks. Jubilee's left her game behind to watch the storm instead, her gloved fingers pressing to the cool windowpane as she watches the power Storm emits. The older, gentler lady is so full of power it seems to scream from her sometimes even when she doesn't speak a word or move a muscle, but even now as she's letting that power ripple through the entire environment, she does so gracefully. She almost seems to be dancing through the clouds as she...
Grieves, Jubilee recognizes. They all have their own ways of dealing with pain and sorrow, of grieving for those they've lost personally and of whom they're always reminded on a night like tonight, when they lost far too many of their own kind. They all have their own ways of unleashing, but none are as beautiful and few as deadly, she thinks, as Ororo Munroe. There are no words to describe her grace, but in watching her, Jubilee can certainly see why she was once worshipped as a Goddess back in the wilds of Africa.
Ororo, too, remembers those nights. She recalls the people she let down, the people she swore she'd never let down again once she came to the States and learned all the great Professor Charles Xavier had to teach her. He has taught her so much, but he still hasn't taught her how to make it all end. He hasn't taught her, because he doesn't know himself. He doesn't know how to make the pain, the hatred, and the fear end. That's why the X-Men are still here. That's why they're still fighting.
And that's why every one of them will come back again tomorrow and continue the fight. They are all waiting, and they are all trying, fighting with everything that they are and can do, all the powers and resources they possess, to make his dream a reality, to make their dream a reality. Living in peace shouldn't be too much to ask, after all. It shouldn't be too much. Yet on nights like tonight, it does seem like it is.
It seems an impossible dream, and so the dreams cry out in their own ways. Ororo's tears fall from Heaven, great, wet plops of moisture that falls on them all, marking each of them, and crying for them all, for all of them, for all those they've lost, and all those they will yet lose. Crying, in her own way, for their whole world.
The End