p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Author's Note: This is basically a rewrite of an older MCU OC fanfiction I tried transferring from Amino onto here. I rewrote major parts of the character, including the timeline and relationships. This is more centered around the comics than the films now, and I even gave my OC a new superhero name entirely. This is a draft, but a friend of mine wanted me to post what I have right now so they could take a look at it while I sleep. I barely know how to work this website and I'm kinda frustrated with it, but I'm trying my best and would love any feedback for what I have right now. Thanks loves./span/p
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p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"East Germany, December 3suprd/sup, 1963. In a house on the outskirts of the city of Leipzig. A mutant was born in a small brick house, on the frigid hard-wood floor of the living room. The first child of the Barnick's. The child was born Neve, a seemingly normal and healthy baby girl. As years passed and she grew, darkened spots of golden brown peppered her cheeks, and once small eyes with pupils as wide as a doe's grew into huge hazel spheres of colorful russet and evergreen. Her petite body, almost doll-like, was perfect for ballet, according to Neve's mother, Rita. Franz, Neve's father, would always fret when Neve would run off into their small garden in her plaid midi skirt and grey blouse, her wavy auburn hair in pigtails. But Neve was not as weak-willed as her overprotective father believed; each scrape on the knee or bruise upon the forearm was follow by brave, stubborn confidence. She was a tough cookie, that was certain in her mind. /span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;" /span/p
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p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanThe first instance in which her powers first came to fruition was in the early summer of 1969, when Neve was only six years old. A bubbly, babbling child, with a fascination for flowers. Rita kept a complex garden, despite the cramped space of their plot of land. A flush of pink roses, rows of blood red carnations, and a rainbow of dahlias littered the inside décor as well as the yard. The smell of the earthy, velvet stems and petals, coupled with the buzzing of plump bumblebees made Neve feel warm, as though wrapped in her mother's gentle arms being surrounded by Rita's bouncing wave of chocolate curls. But the most fascinating of these flowers was the Helleborus niger, what her mother called the Christmas rose, though it was no rose at all. It came in an array of lovely colors: cloudy white, cerise pink, and a dark eggplant violet that filled Neve with childish curiosity. They were the only flowers to bloom in winter. Rita always set to planting the seeds in spring, and Neve would delight in watching them bloom when the winter begam; Rita called Neve her little Christmas rose, as she too had bloomed in winter. /span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;" /span/p
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p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanThat fateful day, Neve stared at the bush of the little flowers. They had lasted quite long time this particular year, barely wilting by the time a new batch would need to be planted. The flowers were a dark maroon with white speckles this year, and they reminded Neve of herself. Freckled and pretty, born from the first flake of snow too. Even Neve's name had meant "snow" in Latin, something her father had taught her. Neve wished she had friends, children her age, as the flowers had each other; bushels of six or seven all together, connected through branches with pokey thorns. Neve wanted her own companions, but her parents hesitated at the idea of her leaving the home. Of course, she was still young, not even of age to begin attending school yet, but the loneliness still stung. Stung like how bees sting. Neve wondered if the thorns of the bush she gazed on was like a bee stinger. They were sharp, like a stinger, but the flowers were so delicate. How could such pain come from a place that held such frail beauty? She brushed a finger lightly against one of the spikes, and it tore her finger open, blood spurting out at an alarming rate. /span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;" /span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;" /span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanFear. It was animalistic. Fear made no sense in this situation, yet it was there. Pain. Pain caused fear, the pain as the blood gushed down the side of her finger. Neve quickly scurried away, clutching her little finger, and rushing towards the home crying out for her mother. Her ankle buckled and twisted sharply, causing her to trip and fall. Neve sobbed as the pain of her leg began to set in. Her cries for her mother went unheard and trying to get up was equally horrible. The first feeling of true helplessness. The overwhelming, overstimulating feelings and thoughts racing through her mind. She had been holding back a scream, heaving hard to prevent it from coming out; she could not cause her parents too much fret. It all came out at once. Suddenly, azure, and artic lights streamed out of the tips of her fingers, as the heat building up in her gut and the ravaging of her vocal cords nearly caused her to choke. The light shot from the center of Neve's hands, charring the grass in front of her and nearly burning a set of bushes in front of her. The lights had shot out in an uncontrollable wave of squiggles. Neve's nose with a burning scent, disgusting and horrifying her. She kept crying out for her mother, begging for someone. Anyone. /span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;" /span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;" /span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Franz was first outside, rushing to his daughter's side and pulling her away from the charred grass, lifting her into his arms. His worst fear had come true. Neve, too, was a mutant like him. Franz, of course, had struggled to explain to Neve her great powers. They were far different from his own, which was the simple manipulation of radiation energy. Neve would rip the energy from her own body. The build up of physical energy and metabolism, the strain of her mental and emotional state, pushing out in the form of burning cyan streams of light and heat, like lasers from her hands. Her metabolism, enhanced past the normal human capacity, and her connection with her own mental and emotional energy fields gave her extra space to use her ability. The first incident had pronounced her veins on her fingers, scarring them with a bright blue burn. Franz's horrible, painful burden had now become his daughter's. His guilt and his fear were immeasurable. /span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;" /span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;" /span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Neve hid her powers well as she grew. Controlling her emotions, keeping herself in check in public. When she went to school, she attached to teachers and kind peers to calm any outburst. But more incidents had become evident, whispers spread around town. Terrorism ravaged Germany, east and west, and the Barnick's paranoia soon boiled over. On May 18supth/sup, 1972, Neve was kept inside the home, her parents antsy from recent car bombings by radical political groups and whispers of underground Soviet and Nazi regimes. /span/p
p class="MsoNormal" /p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"East Germany, December 3suprd/sup, 1963. In a house on the outskirts of the city of Leipzig. A mutant was born in a small brick house, on the frigid hard-wood floor of the living room. The first child of the Barnick's. The child was born Neve, a seemingly normal and healthy baby girl. As years passed and she grew, darkened spots of golden brown peppered her cheeks, and once small eyes with pupils as wide as a doe's grew into huge hazel spheres of colorful russet and evergreen. Her petite body, almost doll-like, was perfect for ballet, according to Neve's mother, Rita. Franz, Neve's father, would always fret when Neve would run off into their small garden in her plaid midi skirt and grey blouse, her wavy auburn hair in pigtails. But Neve was not as weak-willed as her overprotective father believed; each scrape on the knee or bruise upon the forearm was follow by brave, stubborn confidence. She was a tough cookie, that was certain in her mind. /span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;" /span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;" /span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanThe first instance in which her powers first came to fruition was in the early summer of 1969, when Neve was only six years old. A bubbly, babbling child, with a fascination for flowers. Rita kept a complex garden, despite the cramped space of their plot of land. A flush of pink roses, rows of blood red carnations, and a rainbow of dahlias littered the inside décor as well as the yard. The smell of the earthy, velvet stems and petals, coupled with the buzzing of plump bumblebees made Neve feel warm, as though wrapped in her mother's gentle arms being surrounded by Rita's bouncing wave of chocolate curls. But the most fascinating of these flowers was the Helleborus niger, what her mother called the Christmas rose, though it was no rose at all. It came in an array of lovely colors: cloudy white, cerise pink, and a dark eggplant violet that filled Neve with childish curiosity. They were the only flowers to bloom in winter. Rita always set to planting the seeds in spring, and Neve would delight in watching them bloom when the winter begam; Rita called Neve her little Christmas rose, as she too had bloomed in winter. /span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;" /span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;" /span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanThat fateful day, Neve stared at the bush of the little flowers. They had lasted quite long time this particular year, barely wilting by the time a new batch would need to be planted. The flowers were a dark maroon with white speckles this year, and they reminded Neve of herself. Freckled and pretty, born from the first flake of snow too. Even Neve's name had meant "snow" in Latin, something her father had taught her. Neve wished she had friends, children her age, as the flowers had each other; bushels of six or seven all together, connected through branches with pokey thorns. Neve wanted her own companions, but her parents hesitated at the idea of her leaving the home. Of course, she was still young, not even of age to begin attending school yet, but the loneliness still stung. Stung like how bees sting. Neve wondered if the thorns of the bush she gazed on was like a bee stinger. They were sharp, like a stinger, but the flowers were so delicate. How could such pain come from a place that held such frail beauty? She brushed a finger lightly against one of the spikes, and it tore her finger open, blood spurting out at an alarming rate. /span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;" /span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;" /span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanFear. It was animalistic. Fear made no sense in this situation, yet it was there. Pain. Pain caused fear, the pain as the blood gushed down the side of her finger. Neve quickly scurried away, clutching her little finger, and rushing towards the home crying out for her mother. Her ankle buckled and twisted sharply, causing her to trip and fall. Neve sobbed as the pain of her leg began to set in. Her cries for her mother went unheard and trying to get up was equally horrible. The first feeling of true helplessness. The overwhelming, overstimulating feelings and thoughts racing through her mind. She had been holding back a scream, heaving hard to prevent it from coming out; she could not cause her parents too much fret. It all came out at once. Suddenly, azure, and artic lights streamed out of the tips of her fingers, as the heat building up in her gut and the ravaging of her vocal cords nearly caused her to choke. The light shot from the center of Neve's hands, charring the grass in front of her and nearly burning a set of bushes in front of her. The lights had shot out in an uncontrollable wave of squiggles. Neve's nose with a burning scent, disgusting and horrifying her. She kept crying out for her mother, begging for someone. Anyone. /span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;" /span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;" /span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Franz was first outside, rushing to his daughter's side and pulling her away from the charred grass, lifting her into his arms. His worst fear had come true. Neve, too, was a mutant like him. Franz, of course, had struggled to explain to Neve her great powers. They were far different from his own, which was the simple manipulation of radiation energy. Neve would rip the energy from her own body. The build up of physical energy and metabolism, the strain of her mental and emotional state, pushing out in the form of burning cyan streams of light and heat, like lasers from her hands. Her metabolism, enhanced past the normal human capacity, and her connection with her own mental and emotional energy fields gave her extra space to use her ability. The first incident had pronounced her veins on her fingers, scarring them with a bright blue burn. Franz's horrible, painful burden had now become his daughter's. His guilt and his fear were immeasurable. /span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;" /span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;" /span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Neve hid her powers well as she grew. Controlling her emotions, keeping herself in check in public. When she went to school, she attached to teachers and kind peers to calm any outburst. But more incidents had become evident, whispers spread around town. Terrorism ravaged Germany, east and west, and the Barnick's paranoia soon boiled over. On May 18supth/sup, 1972, Neve was kept inside the home, her parents antsy from recent car bombings by radical political groups and whispers of underground Soviet and Nazi regimes. /span/p