Marvel Oneshots

"Here's to not giving a shit!"

Summary: Young reader has some unique physical features that isn't afraid to show. Other people ask how she does it.

You stand in the mirror, staring at your reflection. The only clothes you are currently in are a pair of shorts and a bra. You stand there, looking over your body. It wasn't in a negative way such as judgement or hate. It was content. You didn't feel really anything towards it in fact. Because it was just.. Well, you.

At first as you had aged and your body has changed quite a bit, you became self conscious. You wore loose clothing, long sleeves, and longer shorts. But it wasn't until one day something just.. clicked.

Who actually gives a shit what you look like?

Like, seriously!

Why should you be self conscious in a body that you know that will never be perfect?

It went from,

"I don't think I should wear this.. I'm not gonna be able to pull this shirt off compared to the other clothes.."

"Jeez, this shirt looks out dated. I need matching pants to go along with it..."

To,

"I don't wanna be some Barbie wannabe chick. I don't even like them- why the hell should I blend in?.."

"Eh, I don't have a matching pair of pants but I don't care. This is comfy and if anyone says anything I'll just tell them to bug off."

Maybe you didn't dress like others because you were happy in your skin.. or you just liked to see other people's faces when they insult you and it backfires.

"Bruh, that shirt looks like it belongs to your dad."

"It doesn't belong to my dad, but to yours."

Or

"You look like a whore."

"Thank you, I woke up this morning and chose to look like a hooker. I'll take that as a compliment."

"It's not a compliment, you stupid bitch."

"Well for most people it isn't, but to me it is. Who wouldn't want to dress like your fantastic mother?"

So yeah, one day you woke up and didn't give a shit. Then, you joined the Avengers and got even more physical characteristics such as scars. It added to the ones you already had. You had self harm marks and some ones from other instances- specifically from doing stupid reckless shit .

So now, here you stand, looking into the mirror. You take your finger and gently trace the stretch marks that align your stomach. Funny enough, it has become almost a soothing action. The raised flesh reminded you of who you are and the things that made you unique.

It was a hot day in New York and you decided that today would be the day that you would rock your true self. Before, you hadn't yet showed all of your skin. It wasn't that you were embarrassed but... You didn't know why you hadn't done it yet.

You grab your maroon tank top and slide it over your head, then throw on some black shorts. The tank top was a bit short so if you were to stretch with your arms above your head, part of your stomach would show.

Looking in the mirror and brushing your hair, you count the total scars on both of your arms. Seven self-inflicted, two from a mission, and one cigarette burn from when you reached over your aunt's ash tray as she was putting her smoke out. You can sometimes still smell the burning flesh if you think really hard about that memory.

Yikes.

You slide your shoes on after adding some jewelry to match your outfit. Good to go.

You waltz into the kitchen and begin to prepare some pancakes for the team. Twenty minutes pass by with the repeated actions of adding, mixing, flipping, and serving. The finished pancakes sit on a plate under a dishcloth to keep it warm as the other Avengers begin to file in.