(no subject)
WHO: Quicksilver.
WHERE: Roof of the Brotherhood castle.
WHEN: This afternoon.
WARNINGS: Some suicidal thoughts/behaviour but no death.
SUMMARY: Pietro's lost his speed and has been going a little nutty over the last week. He's finally reaching his breaking point, and after some thoughts about what his powers mean to him, he decides he doesn't want to live without them.
FORMAT: Solo.
It was the kind of thing that created legends. World class games. Determined barriers. Tested people’s limits. Physics in its barest, purest form.
Speed.
It was funny, really, how much Pietro didn’t realize he’d miss it until it was gone. There was this theory he always had that his father had never appreciated the raw power of his speed like he'd appreciated Wanda’s abilities. Wanda didn’t have limits. She was strong and the textbook definition of ‘dangerous mutant’. She had even taken Father’s powers away before when she wanted to, and that was enough to scare the old man into locking her up and stealing all her bad memories of him away.
Pietro was never the threat to him that she was. He was always boring, fast Pietro who was nothing but a pain in the old man’s ass.
But speed affected his everything. How fast he could make a split decision in a fight; how massive the force behind his punches could be; how he ate like a pig and kept off all the weight; how he could tear through the barrier of sound and climb walls, run across water, or get airborne.
Mostly though, it affected the way his brain functioned. Ideas, feelings, and thoughts came to him in droves-hundreds or thousands of them in mere seconds. Ever since he was a kid he had learned to adjust to that, and his entire way of life had been affected. To keep himself distracted by it, Pietro would have to play more than one game at a time; or listen to the fastest dance tracks he could find; or sew, eat, watch TV, and give himself a haircut all at the same time. The world moved miles behind him and if he didn’t keep himself entertained then he was caught in a permanent state of slow motion like a damaged film reel.
Now there he was, lying on the floor in the middle of his massive bedroom and unable to do anything but stare up at the ceiling. Every movement he made, no matter how minute, seemed like it took a lifetime out of him and he had absolutely no desire to experience any of it at all. Wanda had offered to try and help him, but to no avail. For once, her power was not formidable enough and Pietro was stuck as he was.
Trapped within his own mind and drowning in a state of self loathing for the first time in a very long time.
What would Father think of him now? Pietro Maximoff was but a mere flatscan-the very thing he was raised to hate. He was useless and worthless, and still so many leagues beneath the powers his sisters wielded. As if he hadn’t been tossed away for such things enough times in the past, it most surely would happen again. Magneto. He would choose the importance of powers over his own son, absolutely. It took what felt like hours, but eventually the face of his father popped up in his head and just the mere thought of the man’s disapproving gaze made Pietro want to run away and hide for the rest of his pathetic life. If Father could lock Wanda up and steal her memories away just for acting out, what would he do to Pietro for becoming a filthy old human?
Lord, did he want to run from that thought too, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t run anywhere anymore, let alone peel himself up off the cold wooden floor. There was no escape from this void-no running across rivers or up skyscrapers to get away from the world. There was only one thing in Pietro’s life that had always been a constant for him to rely on, and that was his mutant powers. Not his so-called friends or his pitiful excuse for a family. Just him and his two feet and his quick-to-work brain.
Now that was gone too, abandoned him like everything and everyone else in his life ever had. Pietro wasn’t sure if this would be a temporary thing just like everything else in The City had been so far, but it was nearly seven days now. He’d kept track and thought of nothing else but the exact moment he would be given his life back.
Watching and hearing that cop loving his power and living so happily and normally was just about to drive Pietro insane.
Those were his and the fact that they had been stolen and were being used by someone else made him sick to his stomach. It was violating in a way, much the same way someone using his body would have been. Mutants were so much different than other metas around there; mutants were born with their powers and they were every bit as part of their DNA as a person’s eye or hair colour was. That super speed was Pietro’s and not Pete’s and Pietro hated him more right then than he ever hated any other person who had ever existed. He didn’t care if people thought that made him petty or ridiculous, that’s how it was and it wasn’t going to change no matter what. Just having the slow and agonizing thoughts of that moron running around made Pietro want to die.
...That thought actually prompted him to get up, slowly but surely, and he made his way into the hall and up the stairs at the far end. Pietro kept going up, too, until he was able to escape the large window in the attic and get outside.
Death would be so much sweeter than rotting away slowly as a useless nobody. It wouldn’t take much either; from the very roof of this castle he could jump off, falling at a speed he was much more used to. That wind hitting his face and his body tearing through the air at amazing speeds would be like heaven, just to feel one last time.
He stared down at the ground below for a long time, fingers curled against the sharp brick of the castle beside him. The air was cold today and the trees whipped around below, and all Pietro could do was stare at them vacantly as they moved. He didn’t jump though; maybe he didn’t have the guts, he wasn’t sure, but his body wasn’t doing what his mind was screaming at him to do-just like it hadn’t been all week. That was just the tip of the iceberg for his level of pathetic. The old him would have sailed off a ledge without a second thought, careless of the world around him and everyone else but himself. Now he was even too lame to do that.
Just jump. Get it over with and be what you want to be again.
Trembling, he took one more step toward the ledge and just let his thoughts take over him. Whatever happened, happened now, and if he ended up dead? Who cared? Maybe the porter would revive him with his powers back and everything would be okay again. It didn’t matter if he’d forget something or be traumatized, he would be whole and that was all that mattered to him anymore.
But he sat instead, legs dangling off the side of the roof as his vision blurred. So. Fucking. Useless. As if that wasn't bad enough, now he wept for his own loss. Self pity was an awful thing, but there wasn't a person alive who would understand how he felt right at that moment. Sitting alone and contemplating the end of his own life was a far better idea than anything he'd done all week. It was probably the only good he was going to get.
Maybe if he stayed up there long enough he'd gather the courage to fall. To test his own limits and give into the barriers of gravity - physics in its purest form - and feel that speed again.
WHERE: Roof of the Brotherhood castle.
WHEN: This afternoon.
WARNINGS: Some suicidal thoughts/behaviour but no death.
SUMMARY: Pietro's lost his speed and has been going a little nutty over the last week. He's finally reaching his breaking point, and after some thoughts about what his powers mean to him, he decides he doesn't want to live without them.
FORMAT: Solo.
It was the kind of thing that created legends. World class games. Determined barriers. Tested people’s limits. Physics in its barest, purest form.
Speed.
It was funny, really, how much Pietro didn’t realize he’d miss it until it was gone. There was this theory he always had that his father had never appreciated the raw power of his speed like he'd appreciated Wanda’s abilities. Wanda didn’t have limits. She was strong and the textbook definition of ‘dangerous mutant’. She had even taken Father’s powers away before when she wanted to, and that was enough to scare the old man into locking her up and stealing all her bad memories of him away.
Pietro was never the threat to him that she was. He was always boring, fast Pietro who was nothing but a pain in the old man’s ass.
But speed affected his everything. How fast he could make a split decision in a fight; how massive the force behind his punches could be; how he ate like a pig and kept off all the weight; how he could tear through the barrier of sound and climb walls, run across water, or get airborne.
Mostly though, it affected the way his brain functioned. Ideas, feelings, and thoughts came to him in droves-hundreds or thousands of them in mere seconds. Ever since he was a kid he had learned to adjust to that, and his entire way of life had been affected. To keep himself distracted by it, Pietro would have to play more than one game at a time; or listen to the fastest dance tracks he could find; or sew, eat, watch TV, and give himself a haircut all at the same time. The world moved miles behind him and if he didn’t keep himself entertained then he was caught in a permanent state of slow motion like a damaged film reel.
Now there he was, lying on the floor in the middle of his massive bedroom and unable to do anything but stare up at the ceiling. Every movement he made, no matter how minute, seemed like it took a lifetime out of him and he had absolutely no desire to experience any of it at all. Wanda had offered to try and help him, but to no avail. For once, her power was not formidable enough and Pietro was stuck as he was.
Trapped within his own mind and drowning in a state of self loathing for the first time in a very long time.
What would Father think of him now? Pietro Maximoff was but a mere flatscan-the very thing he was raised to hate. He was useless and worthless, and still so many leagues beneath the powers his sisters wielded. As if he hadn’t been tossed away for such things enough times in the past, it most surely would happen again. Magneto. He would choose the importance of powers over his own son, absolutely. It took what felt like hours, but eventually the face of his father popped up in his head and just the mere thought of the man’s disapproving gaze made Pietro want to run away and hide for the rest of his pathetic life. If Father could lock Wanda up and steal her memories away just for acting out, what would he do to Pietro for becoming a filthy old human?
Lord, did he want to run from that thought too, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t run anywhere anymore, let alone peel himself up off the cold wooden floor. There was no escape from this void-no running across rivers or up skyscrapers to get away from the world. There was only one thing in Pietro’s life that had always been a constant for him to rely on, and that was his mutant powers. Not his so-called friends or his pitiful excuse for a family. Just him and his two feet and his quick-to-work brain.
Now that was gone too, abandoned him like everything and everyone else in his life ever had. Pietro wasn’t sure if this would be a temporary thing just like everything else in The City had been so far, but it was nearly seven days now. He’d kept track and thought of nothing else but the exact moment he would be given his life back.
Watching and hearing that cop loving his power and living so happily and normally was just about to drive Pietro insane.
Those were his and the fact that they had been stolen and were being used by someone else made him sick to his stomach. It was violating in a way, much the same way someone using his body would have been. Mutants were so much different than other metas around there; mutants were born with their powers and they were every bit as part of their DNA as a person’s eye or hair colour was. That super speed was Pietro’s and not Pete’s and Pietro hated him more right then than he ever hated any other person who had ever existed. He didn’t care if people thought that made him petty or ridiculous, that’s how it was and it wasn’t going to change no matter what. Just having the slow and agonizing thoughts of that moron running around made Pietro want to die.
...That thought actually prompted him to get up, slowly but surely, and he made his way into the hall and up the stairs at the far end. Pietro kept going up, too, until he was able to escape the large window in the attic and get outside.
Death would be so much sweeter than rotting away slowly as a useless nobody. It wouldn’t take much either; from the very roof of this castle he could jump off, falling at a speed he was much more used to. That wind hitting his face and his body tearing through the air at amazing speeds would be like heaven, just to feel one last time.
He stared down at the ground below for a long time, fingers curled against the sharp brick of the castle beside him. The air was cold today and the trees whipped around below, and all Pietro could do was stare at them vacantly as they moved. He didn’t jump though; maybe he didn’t have the guts, he wasn’t sure, but his body wasn’t doing what his mind was screaming at him to do-just like it hadn’t been all week. That was just the tip of the iceberg for his level of pathetic. The old him would have sailed off a ledge without a second thought, careless of the world around him and everyone else but himself. Now he was even too lame to do that.
Just jump. Get it over with and be what you want to be again.
Trembling, he took one more step toward the ledge and just let his thoughts take over him. Whatever happened, happened now, and if he ended up dead? Who cared? Maybe the porter would revive him with his powers back and everything would be okay again. It didn’t matter if he’d forget something or be traumatized, he would be whole and that was all that mattered to him anymore.
But he sat instead, legs dangling off the side of the roof as his vision blurred. So. Fucking. Useless. As if that wasn't bad enough, now he wept for his own loss. Self pity was an awful thing, but there wasn't a person alive who would understand how he felt right at that moment. Sitting alone and contemplating the end of his own life was a far better idea than anything he'd done all week. It was probably the only good he was going to get.
Maybe if he stayed up there long enough he'd gather the courage to fall. To test his own limits and give into the barriers of gravity - physics in its purest form - and feel that speed again.