Alphabet Soup Table - 4. Dank - X-Men
Title: Darkness, My Old Friend
Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: X-Men
Character/Pairing: Callisto/Storm
Rating: PG-13/T
Challenge/Prompt: FemSlash100100 Alphabet Soup: Dank
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 1,196
Date Written: 11 July, 2016
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Marvel Comics and Disney, not the author, and are used without permission.
She's never expected to end up here. No matter how many times she finds herself making a life down here in the dank sewer system underneath New York, she's never truly expected to be here. The first time came as a complete surprise. When she lost her right to lead to the Windrider and later when she lost the very power that had helped to define her for so long, she didn't think she'd be welcomed here, but stink though they do, Callisto always finds welcome in the sewers.
Still, she never gets to stay for long. Sooner or later, the X-Men, and most often Storm, come and destroy everything she's been working so hard to build. Yesterday should not have come as a surprise. Really, it didn't. She knew she'd come sooner or later, more likely sooner. She just hadn't expected her yesterday.
She certainly hadn't expected her to stay to clean up the mess she'd made in their lives. It wasn't like she was helping mutants any more. The kids she'd found needing her this time were all human. Storm shouldn't have cared, but nothing had ever kept her from intervening before. Nothing ever will, Callisto reminds herself again as she works on setting up the water filtration unit the Devil had brought.
It's funny in a way, she thinks. The X-Men are so bent on being the saviors of human and mutant kind, but yet their team members consist of a Devil, a Goddess, and everything in between. The Devil has the spirit of a Priest and is just as kind as a blind monk, too. She's crossed blades with him before, though; she knows he can fight.
As can the Windrider. But there's something special about Storm. There's always been something special about the self-proclaimed Goddess. She never lets any one forget it, but Callisto can't forget it even when she tries. There's something about Ororo Munroe, something beyond the goodness she shows to the world and beneath the monster both women know is truly within her.
There's something . . . Callisto sighs, remembering how she suddenly appeared in the sewer last night. There's something radiant about that damn woman. Somehow, no matter how dark the situation they're in or dank the place, the blasted Windrider still manages to shine. She doesn't always save the day -- sometimes, she wrecks it like yesterday --, but she always shines.
Callisto sighs again, tapping the faucet and standing erect once more. That woman shines. She's beautiful in a way beyond anything Callisto has seen anywhere else, and she's traveled the world. She's been to Madripoor, to Africa, to China. She's seen things most humans and mutants alike would never believe, and yet, she's never seen anything or one else like Ororo -- damn her -- Munroe.
Callisto turns on the water. It gurgles at first, then coughs and spits mud. She waits as it goes through the process of beginning to filter their drinking water. It spits out some more dirt, but finally it starts pouring smooth and radiant. She runs her gloved fingers under the faucet. The water's pure and cool, the coolest she's felt in a long time.
Again, her mind flashes to Ororo. She sees the Goddess standing underneath a waterfall in the Amazon. Her throat tightens as she watches rivulets of pure water flow down her lush, chocolate skin. She cocks her head, feeling her eyes upon her, and meets her gaze. At first, her blue eyes seem welcoming, but then they narrow with a silent challenge.
Callisto shakes her head and turns the water off. "Hey! Did you get it working?" a voice penetrates into her head.
"Yeah."
"Cool!"
She smirks. "Knock yourselves out." She leaves the kids to explore the benefits of running, cool water again and walks into her tunnels, her dark and smelly tunnels where she belongs. Sewage sloshes underneath her boots; she pays it no mind. Unlike the Goddess, she's accustomed to nasty things. Nasty doesn't bother her, but yet, beauty still calls her.
She shuts her eyes, leans against the nearest, slimy wall, and thinks again of Ororo. She should know better than to focus on the wannabe Goddess like this, but she can't seem to help her thoughts today. She knows what Ororo truly offers, and what she does not, but every time she sees the woman, a part of her wants to believe like the Morlocks. A part of her wants to believe that she can help, that she will help, that darkness and ugliness doesn't have to be her way, that she can appeal to astonishing beauty like the Windrider's --
But she can't, Callisto knows, and Storm won't really help. It's no wonder the X-Men are fucked up. They have too many leaders, and every one of them thinks it has to be their way or no way. Storm's no different. She knows that from personal experience. She knows that from watching the self-righteous bitch lead her first people to their deaths.
She can hear their screams even now in these tunnels. She hears their screams, their sobs echoing in the darkness, their final cries, and she knows it all could have been avoided if they hadn't sought the Windrider's help. She's so busy being a beautiful savior that she doesn't have time to help the people who need her the most. Callisto will never be like that. She'll never be like her, she swears, and she'll never have her.
She doesn't want her. It's just been too damn long since she's had anybody, but Ororo isn't the answer. The Windrider only brings death and more trouble, and she's always had more than enough of the latter. She doesn't need Storm. Storm may need her -- she does need people like her to save --, but she'll never have her.
Callisto's eyes flick around at the darkness. She hears the screams, sobs, and final groans echoing in the sewer of lives that were and will never be again. Unlike the X-Men, when her people die, they have a tendency to stay dead. She won't be the next, and she won't let anybody else like her fall to Storm and her beauty. It's better for them to stay down here where it's dark, ugly, real, and safe than to ever venture toward her beauty again.
She lights a cigarette and takes a drag. This is her way. This is her place. These are her people. Beauty lies; beauty kills. "Don't come again, Windrider," she growls from around her cigarette, her fist hitting the cement wall behind her. She'd best not come again, because next time, Callisto won't be nearly as kind. Next time, she will kill her.
She won't let her lie to her people again. She won't let her beauty and apparent kindness lead any more of those who have come to her for her protection and help to death. She won't let more fall because of a supposed savior who can't even save her own ass. "Don't come again," she growls once more and slips further into the darkness where she belongs, where it's safe, where her light doesn't shine.
The End
Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: X-Men
Character/Pairing: Callisto/Storm
Rating: PG-13/T
Challenge/Prompt: FemSlash100100 Alphabet Soup: Dank
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 1,196
Date Written: 11 July, 2016
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Marvel Comics and Disney, not the author, and are used without permission.
She's never expected to end up here. No matter how many times she finds herself making a life down here in the dank sewer system underneath New York, she's never truly expected to be here. The first time came as a complete surprise. When she lost her right to lead to the Windrider and later when she lost the very power that had helped to define her for so long, she didn't think she'd be welcomed here, but stink though they do, Callisto always finds welcome in the sewers.
Still, she never gets to stay for long. Sooner or later, the X-Men, and most often Storm, come and destroy everything she's been working so hard to build. Yesterday should not have come as a surprise. Really, it didn't. She knew she'd come sooner or later, more likely sooner. She just hadn't expected her yesterday.
She certainly hadn't expected her to stay to clean up the mess she'd made in their lives. It wasn't like she was helping mutants any more. The kids she'd found needing her this time were all human. Storm shouldn't have cared, but nothing had ever kept her from intervening before. Nothing ever will, Callisto reminds herself again as she works on setting up the water filtration unit the Devil had brought.
It's funny in a way, she thinks. The X-Men are so bent on being the saviors of human and mutant kind, but yet their team members consist of a Devil, a Goddess, and everything in between. The Devil has the spirit of a Priest and is just as kind as a blind monk, too. She's crossed blades with him before, though; she knows he can fight.
As can the Windrider. But there's something special about Storm. There's always been something special about the self-proclaimed Goddess. She never lets any one forget it, but Callisto can't forget it even when she tries. There's something about Ororo Munroe, something beyond the goodness she shows to the world and beneath the monster both women know is truly within her.
There's something . . . Callisto sighs, remembering how she suddenly appeared in the sewer last night. There's something radiant about that damn woman. Somehow, no matter how dark the situation they're in or dank the place, the blasted Windrider still manages to shine. She doesn't always save the day -- sometimes, she wrecks it like yesterday --, but she always shines.
Callisto sighs again, tapping the faucet and standing erect once more. That woman shines. She's beautiful in a way beyond anything Callisto has seen anywhere else, and she's traveled the world. She's been to Madripoor, to Africa, to China. She's seen things most humans and mutants alike would never believe, and yet, she's never seen anything or one else like Ororo -- damn her -- Munroe.
Callisto turns on the water. It gurgles at first, then coughs and spits mud. She waits as it goes through the process of beginning to filter their drinking water. It spits out some more dirt, but finally it starts pouring smooth and radiant. She runs her gloved fingers under the faucet. The water's pure and cool, the coolest she's felt in a long time.
Again, her mind flashes to Ororo. She sees the Goddess standing underneath a waterfall in the Amazon. Her throat tightens as she watches rivulets of pure water flow down her lush, chocolate skin. She cocks her head, feeling her eyes upon her, and meets her gaze. At first, her blue eyes seem welcoming, but then they narrow with a silent challenge.
Callisto shakes her head and turns the water off. "Hey! Did you get it working?" a voice penetrates into her head.
"Yeah."
"Cool!"
She smirks. "Knock yourselves out." She leaves the kids to explore the benefits of running, cool water again and walks into her tunnels, her dark and smelly tunnels where she belongs. Sewage sloshes underneath her boots; she pays it no mind. Unlike the Goddess, she's accustomed to nasty things. Nasty doesn't bother her, but yet, beauty still calls her.
She shuts her eyes, leans against the nearest, slimy wall, and thinks again of Ororo. She should know better than to focus on the wannabe Goddess like this, but she can't seem to help her thoughts today. She knows what Ororo truly offers, and what she does not, but every time she sees the woman, a part of her wants to believe like the Morlocks. A part of her wants to believe that she can help, that she will help, that darkness and ugliness doesn't have to be her way, that she can appeal to astonishing beauty like the Windrider's --
But she can't, Callisto knows, and Storm won't really help. It's no wonder the X-Men are fucked up. They have too many leaders, and every one of them thinks it has to be their way or no way. Storm's no different. She knows that from personal experience. She knows that from watching the self-righteous bitch lead her first people to their deaths.
She can hear their screams even now in these tunnels. She hears their screams, their sobs echoing in the darkness, their final cries, and she knows it all could have been avoided if they hadn't sought the Windrider's help. She's so busy being a beautiful savior that she doesn't have time to help the people who need her the most. Callisto will never be like that. She'll never be like her, she swears, and she'll never have her.
She doesn't want her. It's just been too damn long since she's had anybody, but Ororo isn't the answer. The Windrider only brings death and more trouble, and she's always had more than enough of the latter. She doesn't need Storm. Storm may need her -- she does need people like her to save --, but she'll never have her.
Callisto's eyes flick around at the darkness. She hears the screams, sobs, and final groans echoing in the sewer of lives that were and will never be again. Unlike the X-Men, when her people die, they have a tendency to stay dead. She won't be the next, and she won't let anybody else like her fall to Storm and her beauty. It's better for them to stay down here where it's dark, ugly, real, and safe than to ever venture toward her beauty again.
She lights a cigarette and takes a drag. This is her way. This is her place. These are her people. Beauty lies; beauty kills. "Don't come again, Windrider," she growls from around her cigarette, her fist hitting the cement wall behind her. She'd best not come again, because next time, Callisto won't be nearly as kind. Next time, she will kill her.
She won't let her lie to her people again. She won't let her beauty and apparent kindness lead any more of those who have come to her for her protection and help to death. She won't let more fall because of a supposed savior who can't even save her own ass. "Don't come again," she growls once more and slips further into the darkness where she belongs, where it's safe, where her light doesn't shine.
The End