So, a while ago, I got lost in the depths of the internet and came across an argument in the comments of an article on the Hawkeye Project, where people draw male superheroes the way female superheroes are portrayed, about whether comics were actually sexist in their depictions. One of the female characters brought up was Rogue, who used to go totally covered up, but wears a bathing suit-like costume now that she can control her powers. The argument made by the people who said that that was okay was that, after not being able to show any skin, she would naturally want to do so. My response was, "Sweetie. That's not how it works. You spend your whole life covered up that much and short sleeves are going to be a big deal." Then I was thinking about characters having bad days, and this is the love child of the two thought processes. Hopw you like it!
This was beta'ed by the amazing readingislifeblood, who lives in the wilds of wattpad. Look her up, she'll appreciate it.
Disclaimer: I do not own X-men, its parents, or its affiliates, nor does this reflect their opinions.
"Anna. Anna Anna Anna." The boy giggles uncontrollably.
"Yeah?" Rogue turns her head to him.
"You have such a pretty name, Anna. Anna Anna."
The two are laying next to each other on a picnic blanket, the remains of their lunch long abandoned in favor of watching first the clouds and then the sunset. The day, now evening, is beautiful, the last remains of summer drifting into the first hints of autumn.
For a while longer they stay there, sleeved arms just brushing. Occasionally, one will break the silence as the boy did, with loving words and secret jokes. The stars are just beginning to blink into sight when Rogue shifts onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow.
"Hey," she says softly. "It's getting chilly, we should go in."
"Yeah," the boy beside her replies. "But first, will you kiss me?" The question is just a little shy and Rogue smiles as she leans over him.
"Of course." Reaching over, Rogue places a chaste kiss on the boy's lips.
"AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!" The screech is sudden and rips through the idyllic scene, turning it nightmarish.
"Wha-? No!" Rogue shouts, looking at the boy's face.
Where once was smooth, unblemished flesh is now aged parchment. With an expression of horror, Rogue watches as skin dries and flakes away, as bone crumbles and muscles waste. Slowly and swiftly, the boy mummifies before her eyes, collapses into a pile dust, and is blown away by the too-cold wind.
*~U~*
"No. NO!" Rogue screams, shocking herself awake. It's the first time she has the dream since she learned to control her powers. Rogue is shaken even knowing that it would never happen again in real life.
Sleep impossible at this point, Rogue gets up. She shivers in her tanktop and shorts. Rogue feels exposed even though she has been wearing them to bed for months. She pulls on one of the long sleeved shirts Logan made her keep ("Never know when you'll need one, kid."). Rogue smiles at the memory, but it's a thin, pale thing.
After putting on a pair of pants, Rogue wonders out of her room heading towards the dining room.
Emma Frost is there, drinking a cup of coffee and reading the morning paper.
"Anna, dear, what's wrong?" She says, glancing up.
"Nothing," Rogue says and holds back a flinch at the sound of her name. "Just a bad dream."
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