timezone: arizona (we don’t believe in dst so we get our own timezone)
favorite types of plots: plots that make me wanna throw myself off a cliff uwu
which ‘push’ power would you want?: shifterrrr. or a pusher. i’d get that $$$
gif that describes you:
favorite kind of plot: the ones that make me want to rip my heart out
what kind of ‘push’ power would you want to have?: SHIFTER god i would buy so much stuff with my fake money
a gif that describes you:
like an echo
a push inspired rp coming soon to a jcink screen near you!
IRINA --- | 20'S | CITIZEN OR VIGILANTE IDK | IMOGEN POOTS
ARABELLA --- | 36 | VILLAIN | CHRISTINA HENDRICKS
favorite movie: blade runner, the fall, brothers bloom, in bruges, lotr, idk i’m a film major i have a LOT
favorite superhero/villain: black widow, mystique, poison ivy, iron fist, hawkeye, deadpool, cable, loki.
favorite face claims: scarlett johansson, christina hendricks, alexandra breckenridge, amber heard, natalie dormer, gemma arterton, aidan turner, joe gilgun, leebo freeman, olga kurylenko, carey mulligan
one random special skill/talent: i know a lot of unnecessary facts about things. and stuff.
"Even the greatest blessing could be a curse in disguise." The words still echo in your ears, hissed against the cold winds of Russia. Cryptic. As always, you think. It was one of the few moments when you could see cracks in him, just like those rare times where his smile turned crooked or his accent sounded slightly off. He snaps back in place, rigidity taking over and it’s as if he hadn’t said anything at all. You only furrowed your brow then, wanting to ask him for more details but your tongue won’t let you. It’s better not to ask questions. You’ll know the details when they want you to know.
You don’t stay in your quarters very long before the door opens. Immediately you scan the uniforms. One military, two science, one corporate. Usually the latter don’t step foot in these halls. The blood scuffs their shoes, is the alarming thought that passes through your mind. You push that down and lock it away.
"Comrade Romanova," the suit says, and you stand immediately in a perfect salute. When he nods, you relax slightly. You aren’t given time to change out of civilian clothes, instead they lead you further into the building. It’s three stories down, and you know exactly where you’re going. The programming chambers are here, screams clear as day ringing in your ears. You don’t flinch, but your mind doesn’t let you drown them out. It’s a constant reminder of what can happen if you falter. The lights are dim, red reflecting on the walls and suddenly the name seems so appropriate. It’s like they’re bleeding, you used to think, mind dulled by hours of physical pain. Now you simply kept your eyes on the men ahead of you.
A door at the end of the hall opens, revealing a room of others. You recognize some as your handlers, but many remain nameless. There’s a cot in the middle of the room, and you can tell from the strong smell of disinfectant that someone was here before you. Experiments in the Red Room were not an uncommon occurrence. You can recall several girls that disappeared through the night into one of these rooms. They were failures, not up to the task. You’re different. You’ve always been different.
They ease you onto the cot, restraints tied around your wrists and ankles. They’re tight, but you don’t complain. Your mind buzzes with questions. The programming devices aren’t in here, nor any torture instruments that you can see. There’s a syringe of liquid in one of the doctor’s hands, but it doesn’t look like any sort of acid.
"Comrade," the corporate says, and your eyes snap to him. "Since you came to us, we knew you’d be a fine asset. The Winter Soldier says your first kill went well."
"Yes, sir." You nod. The mission had been simple, perhaps a millisecond of hesitation before you pulled the trigger.
He continues: "We’ve developed enhancements, and we believe you should be the recipient. The prize of the Motherland."
For a brief moment, you swell with pride, though your expression remains neutral. "Thank you, Comrade," you say quietly. "It would be an honor."
Even if you didn’t want it, you wouldn’t refuse it.
You close your eyes, leaning back on the cot. They put a guard in your mouth, to keep you from biting your tongue. You watch as the needle goes in, the liquid pushed into a vein in your arm.
It all takes about five minutes, start to finish, but it feels like the longest moment of your life. Insides ripping and coming back together, bones shifting under the skin. Your blood feels as if it’s been replaced by fire. The pain is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, torture sessions seeming like mere child’s play. If it wasn’t for the white noise in your ears, you would be able to hear yourself scream. Nails press into the flesh of your palms, deep enough to draw blood. You black out shortly after.
(A curse in disguise.)
You wake up back in your quarters. The dress you’re wearing smells of vomit, blood, disinfectant, and you strain to sit up. The dress falls to pool on the floor, but you don’t look at that. Instead you see your hands, unmarred and perfect despite how you thrashed against the bindings. A deep scar on your thigh has vanished. You inspect yourself, and now you know just what they did to you.
Peak human condition, they call it. You’re stronger, faster, better than the rest. It’s a blessing. It’s a gift.
It’s a curse.
okay real talk
should i change black widow’s pb to alexandra breckenridge?