--Well firstly I dont' own any of these guys, but honestly...if I could have like...a couple hours with Toad..the grown up Toad...oh baby oh baby...anyway, I'll stop being a perv. Rated for violence, language and some adult themes, makes you squimish, RUN AWAY RUN AWAY. love it, hate it, rate it!
--This idea came to me when I was RPing with a friend of mine (shut up, I know I'm nerdy) and I had to make up some extra backstory for Toad...Haaaa cha cha--
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He ran the dirty streets of London like he was familiar with the filth. Embraced it. The filth wouldn't hit, or call names. The filth kept the others at bay, it was his ally.
But sometimes it wasn't enough.
His hood was drawn up over his head, casting his face in shadows. He was thin, too thin. Short, but wiry, as he dashed along the alleyways making his escape. He shivered in the cold away from the warm vent that usually kept him comfortable in the London nights.
He was being chased.
His feet were bare and his whole body winced as he splashed through a puddle that soaked him to the ankle. He turned a corner, hearing the laughter behind him. For them it was a game, for him it was his life.
A beer bottle was thrown, catching him in the shoulder and sending him sprawling upon the muck of the back city streets. They advanced on his prone form as he scrambled to get back to his feet, but ended up just cowering before them.
They laughed, calling him a thief and a freak, calling him any number of things that he might have been, but they'd never know him enough to know. The shatter of a glass bottle and they advanced, swinging it before them, sharp and ominous.
A shadow fell over them.
A man cleared his throat, and the boys looked up to see him, their faced lined with shock and awe. The man clenched his fist and a metal dumpster began to twist and writhe toward them. Like the cowards they were, they ran away.
The boy was left to look up at the God, afraid to peer to closely at his awesome brilliance. He had saved him. The boy nobody wanted. Toad.
Magneto's feet touched the ground and he approached the youth, kneeling to make eye contact. His glittering eyes hidden beneath the folds of his hood, wide eyed and frightened.
"I am here for you child."
Tears ran over the filth covering his face, leaving clean wet trails, his wide eyes never leaving Magneto's face. His small hands shook as he reached out toward him. His savior, his God.
Magneto's hand found his shoulder, leading him closer, pulling him into the embrace he so desperately needed. The little boy's slender arms found their way around his middle and he pressed his face against the man's chest. He was saved.
A hand still on the boy's shoulder, Magneto rose into the air, taking him away from the filth and the film of the city streets and to a boat he had waiting. The boy finally let his savior go and huddled in the bottom of the boat, nervous and cold. A big man had dropped a blanket over him and gone to pilot the ship.
Magneto sat apart, apparently thinking, though he cast a warm glance at the young boy huddled beneath the large blanket from time to time. Not a word did any of them exchange. The young boy eventually fell asleep, one hand clutching the blanket like the child he'd never gotten to be.
When he woke they'd reached the land, and the wide-eyed youth followed the two older men onto the dock. It looked like an island. The boy pulled the blanket around himself, padding with bare feet up over the sand after them.
A building was carefully hidden along the side of a mountain. It looked to be made entirely of metal. The boy entered after he was beckoned to do so, his small face lighting up at seeing the grand inside of the place.
Magneto led the youth into his office where he sat in the chair behind a large desk and motioned for the boy to sit across from him. He took a tentative seat, his eyes glowing luminous and overlarge still beneath the shadow of the hood he always wore.
"I have been looking for you since you ran away from the orphanage, Mortimer."
The boy paled, eyes darting around the room for a way out. Was he sending him back to the orphanage?
"It's alright child. No one will hurt you here."
Mortimer wanted to believe. Wanted it so bad. His little hands shook, staring at Magneto with wide eyes, begging him to make it true.
"This is a safe place for mutants, Mortimer. That is what you are…a mutant…and what I am."
His head cocked to the side, trying to sort out the word, and how he could have anything in common with this God.
"You're tired…we can talk later, just know you are safe here, Mortimer. No one will harm you."
He motioned to a corner Mortimer hadn't noticed and a woman stepped out of the shadows. Blue and scaled, she walked with a sinewy predatory gate toward the small boy. His eyes were huge.
"Get him cleaned up, and something to eat," Magneto ordered and she nodded, approaching him.
She knelt and took his hand.
"It's alright, I'm Mystique…I'm like you are."
Mortimer nodded. He'd never seen anyone who was blue before. She was beautiful, but she was different, like him. Maybe he would be safe here. He let her take his hand, which was a new experience for him, and lead him to a bathroom.
She reached to push down his hood and got a good look at him for the first time. Face too thin, cheeks sunken in with hunger, circles around his eyes darker with fatigue. Skin a sickly yellowish-green, but she assumed that was part of his mutation. His eyes were overlarge and liquid gold and black. The eyes of a Toad. Beautiful eyes.
She unzipped his sweatshirt, pushing it over his shoulders to the floor, and he shivered, looking at her with wide trusting eyes. Her eyes took in his body, ribs showing through cleanly, obviously malnourished.
"After we clean you up, I'll make you some dinner, what would you like?"
Mortimer was unresponsive, except for a questioning look. Mystique almost wondered if he could even speak.
Her hands went to his pant's fly and he shied back from her, shaking hard.
"Don' touch me," he begged, his accent soft and frightened.
Mystique watched him worriedly, "Mortimer? I'm not going to hurt you."
"I don't want to do that," He whispered.
Mystique's eyes narrowed, wondering who had used him in the past to make him so leery.
"I'm not going to touch you, I promise. We're just gonna clean up." She moved to turn on the bathwater and when she turned back he'd taken off his pants and stood there, terrified, but trying to be brave.
She smiled at him, trying not to let her eyes focus on his battered body, so obviously misused. She motioned him into the tub and he did as she bid, and let her soap him up, washing away the grime.
She grinned, " I knew there was a boy under all that muck."
Mortimer smiled too, something new for him. She lathered his hair and her touch felt so nice. Tears ran down his cheeks again, and she sighed, her face creased with worry.
"Everything will be alright now, Mortimer."
He moved forward quickly, as though not wanting the chance to change his mind, and wrapped his thin little arms around her, his head on her chest.
She held him as he cried in relief, and when it was over she finished washing him and dried him with a warm fluffy towel.
He looked considerably better. Eyes brighter, skin glowing, and smiling as she put him in some of Vic's old clothing. It was far too large for him, but at least it was clean and she could roll up the cuffs to fit better.
She led him to the kitchen where he plopped down, looking happy in one of the chairs as she searched the cupboard for something to feed him. It needed to be something nutritious, by the look of him.
Mystique wasn't the most accomplished of chef's but she got him an apple while she searched the fridge for something to make. She finally settled on steak. It was Vic's, but he'd get over it. And it looked like the kid could use some protein.
She cooked it, watching him chew on the apple amusedly. He looked younger than the fourteen years old, Magneto said he was; probably from being both a social outcast and a victim of malnutrition.
She set the plate down in front of him and he went to work on it with his hands, furiously. He was so hungry. With a frown she started looking for something to make a salad with, he was going through that steak fast.
"Take it easy, you don't want to get sick."
His eyes widened and he tried to do as she asked, it was just so good. It was the first thing he'd eaten in the last year that wasn't trash.
When he'd finished the steak and the salad and another apple, he sat back looking pleased, his eyes sparkling with pleasure.
Mystique sat down, looking at him. He licked his fingers, and she could have sworn the tongue she saw poking out was green. She reached out a hand to ruffle his long dark green hair.
"You need a haircut, my friend, you are positively shaggy."
He grinned at her, his whole face lighting up.
"You'd give me a 'aircut?" He looked so excited.
"It would be a crime not to," she led him into the kitchen and searched the drawer for scissors. She didn't have too much experience cutting hair, but she did a decent job, leaving him with something short and spiky that kids his age usually liked.
He went to the mirror afterward and didn't say a word for a long time, just staring. Finally he looked back at her.
"I look different, but I still look like a Toad." He looked disappointed, like he'd expected things to get better. She put a hand on his shoulder.
"You look very handsome, Mortimer."
He shrugged, not really believing her. How could he? He could see himself in the mirror and he'd been told his whole life it wasn't the right way to look. Mystique sighed and led him to a bedroom, tucking him into the warm sheets.
"Things will be better, Mort, I promise."
He nodded, his eyes already closing. She shut the door already hearing a light snore issuing from the room.