[HEY If anyone wants to see the picture of the thing that are described in this story go to the Scribble Hub version of this fanfic and search for this story. There should be picture or concept art that is embedded into the story. And if you are already here then Thank you and please enjoy this chapter.]
This work is purely fanfiction and doesn't have any relation to the property of Marvel Comic.
I don't own Marvel Comic.
All rights are reserved to those Companies.
Rated M, 18 and Above for Violent and Sexual Content.
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Genesis Arcana: The Marvelous Saga.
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Who knows the end? What has risen may sink, and what has sunk may rise. Loathsomeness waits and dreams in the deep, and decay spreads over the tottering cities of men. — H.P. Lovecraft.
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Marvel: Genesis Arcana
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-Vine Journal Entry: 34-
Today, I've accomplished what I set out to do months ago. The task that has been weighing on my heart is finally complete.
I've gently released the ashes of my beloved dog, Loki, at the peak of the world-renowned Eiffel Tower. It was a poignant moment, filled with remembrances of his joyful wagging tail and those warm, adoring eyes that held a universe of love. I think he would have revealed in the panoramic view, his spirit soaring with the wind.
Now, a part of him forever resides in one of the most visited symbols of love and unity, a testament to our bond. Rest easy, my dear friend. You were, and always will be, my loyal companion.
Currently, as I am writing this, I am taking a bus back home. It was a long trip and hopefully the last of my pilgrimages for a while. The journey down from the Eiffel Tower was peaceful, despite the buzzing tourists around me. I couldn't help but feel a sense of finality as if closing a chapter of my life.
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In an entire unknown plane of existence, in the Deep void of the outer known multiverse.
Beneath the pallid glow of an ever-watchful blood moon, the icy desert stretched infinitely, a barren and silent expanse where the very air seemed to freeze in anticipation. This was no ordinary wasteland; it was a place where the laws of nature bent, twisted by the unseen hands of ancient, unfathomable forces.
Jagged ridges jutted from the ground like the broken teeth of some colossal beast, their surfaces slick with a sheen of frozen mist that clung to the air. Between these cruel spires, the ground was pocked with great holes secretly dug where earth's pores ought to suffice—vast, yawning chasms whose depths were obscured by darkness so profound it seemed to devour light itself. It was as if the earth had been hollowed out by an insatiable hunger, leaving behind only a fragile crust to separate the unwary traveler from the void below.
In this eldritch landscape, the wind carried whispers—echoes of a language lost to time, murmuring secrets that gnawed at the edges of sanity. Shadows moved with a purpose of their own, sliding unnaturally across the ice as if guided by an intelligence that defied comprehension. And somewhere, just beyond the limits of sight, things have learned to walk that ought to crawl, their footsteps a soft but insistent thrum that reverberated through the bones of the earth.
W̵̯̅à̵̱k̴̝̽e̴͕͑ ̵̻̈́ù̷̬p̷͈̄.
"AH!" A man let out a blood-curdling scream as his eyes shot open and he let out a gasping breath. He was lying on a cold, hard surface, his body trembling uncontrollably. He looked around, trying to get his bearings, but the world around him was an inky blackness, the kind that was so dense it was almost tangible. Panic began to set in as he realized he couldn't remember his name, or how he had come to be in this place. The only thing he knew for certain was the pain, a deep, throbbing ache that seemed to emanate from his very soul.
"RUFF! RUFF! RUFF!"
"Huh? The man turns and sees what seems to be a glowing and oddly familiar-looking four-legged silhouette in the distance that seems to glimmer slightly around the alien landscape. His heart races as the silhouette comes closer, and he makes out the unmistakable shape of a dog. But this wasn't any ordinary dog. It was Loki and the man froze as a familiar wetness coated his cheeks.
The dog stops licking its owner, yet as the man tries to reach out to his best friend, the dog suddenly turns and runs, causing the man to jump to his feet and give chase. The adrenaline masked the pain and confusion, the cold biting at his skin as he stumbled over the jagged ice. Loki's glow grew fainter as he darted through the maze of spires and shadows. The man felt a strange pull as if the very fabric of reality was guiding him, urging him to follow.
Until the man arrived at the base of what looked like stairs that led to… a stone archway with black jagged rock pillars that surrounded it, giving off an eerie yet somehow comforting vibe. Each step he took echoed through the vast emptiness, the rhythm matching the racing beat of his heart. He sees his beloved canine at the threshold of the archway, tail wagging, looking back at him expectantly.
And eventually, the man reached the archway, his breaths coming in ragged gasps, the cold air burning his lungs. The archway loomed before him, a gateway to the unknown, yet Loki was nowhere to be found and the only sounds were his own heavy breaths and the faint echoes of his footsteps. The arch was a silent sentinel, its black stones etched with ancient runes that danced in the dim light like a madman's scribbles.
The only thing he saw once went through the Archway was a large perfectly circled hole on the ground in front of the man, and inside of the hole was what seemed to be a spiral staircase that descended into the abyss. His heart sank, and he felt a sense of dread creeping into his very soul as he peered into the endless descent. Yet, the man's spirit was undeterred, and the man found himself drawn to it, compelled by the same unseen force that had brought him here.
"Down the rabbit hole then…"
The man began to descend the spiral staircase, each step sending a shiver down his spine as the cold, damp air grew heavier with the scent of ancient decay. The walls of the staircase were lined with the same twisted jagged rock that adorned the archway, their patterns seemingly alive, pulsing with an eerie light that grew brighter with every step he took.
Until he reached the bottom of the hole and there was nothing… except for the human-size hole in a wall. And what he saw instantly made him rush forward into the hole without a second thought. The man saw the tail end of Loki disappearing into the tunnel, the faint glow of his fur like a beacon in the darkness.
The man quickly ducked through the hole, his eyes adjusting to the dim light that emanated from an unseen source deep within the tunnel. And with all of his might began to crawl after Loki, the walls pressing in on him from all sides. The rock beneath his hands felt slimy, almost alive, as he dragged himself forward, driven by a primal instinct to follow his companion.
Then the man saw what seemed to be a light at the end of the tunnel, growing brighter as he approached. The air grew warmer, and the smell of something...familiar filled his nostrils. It smelled like...home and as the man crawled closer, the light grew into a soft, inviting glow until he saw what seemed to be a room, a cozy den filled with warmth and light.
The man emerged from the tunnel, his knees and hands bruised and bleeding from the harsh rock. The man looked around and was met by the sight of his childhood room, perfectly preserved as if he had never left. The warm light from the bedside lamp cast a comforting glow on the worn-out comforter and the bookshelves filled with his favorite childhood novels. Loki was there, sitting at the foot of the bed, his tail thumping the floor in a steady rhythm.
The man shook his head, blinking back tears of disbelief. This couldn't be real, could it? Yet, as he took a tentative step forward, the floorboards creaked beneath his feet with the same familiar groan they had when he was a child. His heart swelled with a mix of joy and fear, what was he getting into, what was going on? And how was this even possible?
He began to look around once again until The man caught sight of his green notebook on a shelf right next to a book called 'The King in Yellow', his favorite book of all time. He took a step closer and noticed that there seemed to be something different about his notebook, mainly the cover had a different title on it: 'Genesis Arcana'. He reached out and took the book down from the shelf, his heart racing as he felt the coldness of the cover against his palm.
"The book of creation." The Man muttered suddenly and yet before he could even open the book, a loud horn echoed loudly followed by a sudden white flash across the room that momentarily blinded him.
The man was then bombarded by the vision of a red-eyed, white hair woman wearing what looked like a white nightgown lying in what seemed to be a pod of some kind before everything turned to Black.
A̸ ̵T̸r̵u̶e̴ ̶B̸e̵a̵r̶e̴r̶ ̵h̴a̵s̸ ̵b̸e̸e̸n̶ ̸d̶e̸t̴e̷r̸m̸i̶n̸e̵d̵.̴
A̵̟͂͘͠ľ̷̩̯̩̋̃̆ĺ̸̹͕̭̺̹͠ ̴̯̫̎̍h̷͚̬́̂̉̀̐ȁ̴̝̑̚i̴̧̥̼͖̞̍͑͋͊̚l̸̻̖͉̼̆͌͝ ̷̰̜͓̺̆͌̏̀t̴̡̬̝̓̎̆ḧ̸̳̱͓͎́̽̊̄e̶̠̞̟̘͂̈́̈ ̵̹̭̜͆̔̆͐͝Ņ̸̣̻̾̒͂͗u̶͓̿c̸̨̹̼̫̈́l̶̰͈̮̝͍̃̍e̶̤͗̏̓͘͜a̸̝̣̞̣͗̈͑̄r̴̨̼̠̞̪͑̒͝͠ ̴͕̳̘̊͐̿C̴̞̍̄̀̕h̵̡̯̗̆̓͒̊͝a̷͖͒̂ỏ̸͖̂s̸͖̞̳̒͌.̶͈̖̃͋
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-Vine Journal Entry: 35-
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
How did I end up here?
How did I get to North America?
Come on, think!
What was the last thing I remember?
Oh, right...
It was late at night when the bus pulled up to the outskirts of Paris. The city lights had begun to fade, casting a soft, dreamlike glow over the skyline. I was the last passenger to disembark, and in my weariness, I realized I had misplaced my ticket and was short on cash. But fortune favored me, as my home was just a short walk from the bus stop. I explained my situation to the driver, a kind-faced man with silver hair and laughter lines etched into his skin, perhaps in his late fifties or early sixties. In an act of compassion, he agreed to wait while I hurried home to fetch the money I owed him.
But something went wrong. There are gaping holes in my memory, like pages torn from a book. One moment, I walked down the quiet street to my home, the cobblestones echoing my solitary footsteps, and the next...I'm helping the bus driver fend off a group of punks who decided to harass him. They were young, no older than college kids, but their eyes were cold and hungry, looking for trouble. Thankfully, they weren't dealing with the average tourist. My instincts, honed during my career in the military and as an operator in the special unit, kicked in, but I must have blacked out or been drugged after that. How else could I explain waking up at a random bus stop in the middle of nowhere in the USA?
This is a fucking mess. I need to find out what happened, and fast. My life, my past, everything I knew is on the other side of the Atlantic. I need to get back, to find out who did this to me and why. But first, I need to figure out where I am and how to get home. This is bad, really bad. I need to untangle this, one thread at a time.
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A year before the State Home for Foundlings events.
Boston City, in the state of Massachusetts, of the USA.
This day keeps getting stranger and Stranger, Vine pondered scrutinizing the cup of Tea in his hand before shrugging and taking a slip at the smoothing liquid. "Hmm, pretty good, not bad."
The Frenchman leaned back into the cushion and sighed deeply, looking through the window, where lay the City of Boston. It looks like any ordinary American city that he has seen in the movie and Internet, a bustling concrete jungle with people and vehicles moving in harmonious chaos. The setting sun painted the sky with a canvas of pink and orange, a stark contrast to the greys and blacks of the skyscrapers that stood tall and proud like silent sentinels watching over the city.
Vine, aching feet, were reminded of the utterly bizarre predicament that he found himself in. After mysteriously waking up at a random bus station in the middle of godforsaken nowhere, it took two entire days of wandering, by foot for him to end up in Boston of all places. He already figures out that he's somehow in the USA but to see it with his own eyes… Very Strange indeed.
The Foreigner put the empty cup of Tea down on the table and got up, while also popping a few muscles here and there and making his way to the men's restroom of this diner. It looked like a typical family-owned restaurant that you would see in a small town, but it had the charm of a place that had seen a lot of history. The walls were adorned with black and white photos of past customers, some smiling, some serious, and others looking like they were straight out of a movie set.
Reaching the men's bathroom, Vine studied his reflection in the mirror, and yeah he looked like hammer shit, noticing the tired lines etched into his face and the way his eyes held a sense of bewilderment. He splashed cold water on his cheeks, feeling the sting as it brought him back to reality. The bathroom was surprisingly clean, the scent of lemon-scented cleaner lingering in the air. The floor tiles were a checkerboard pattern of black and white, adding to the vintage feel of the place.
Despite this, Vine remains fixated on his own reflection, the world around him fading into a dull hum as his thoughts grow hazy. His hand, acting on its own accord, retrieves a personal notebook he's been carrying for a while and holds it up in front of the man. The man's gaze shifts to the notebook, observing that the green cover seems to pulsate with a soft glow as if it were alive, more than just a mere object.
Crack!*
Vine was brought out of his trance as what sounded like glass shattering echoed through the diner. His heart raced as he dried his face and rushed out of the bathroom to find the source of the disturbance. His eyes darted around the room, searching for any signs of danger or trouble. The diners, however, seemed unfazed, continuing with their meals and conversations although he heard what sounded like yelling coming from the kitchen.
"Strange… what was that?" Vine murmured under his breath with a grimace, his hand subconsciously tightening around the notebook. The voices grew louder, the tension palpable as it seeped into the dining area. He could make out a woman's voice, gruff and demanding, followed by another, strained and insistent. "What is going on here?"
"Oh, that?" A voice pipes up beside Vine, turning to see a young waitress with a name tag that reads 'Abby'. She offered a nervous smile. "There was a woman here, who tried to eat without paying, she tried to high-tail it but the owner's daughter, Lenny caught her."
"So basically Dine and Dash essentially?" The Foreigner questions with raised eyes.
"Yeah, they made her wash the dishes there in turn for not calling the cops. She's got a mouth on her, that one." The waitress shrugged. "I think she broke something in there and now Lenny's giving her an earful. It's nothing too serious, it happens once in a blue moon."
"Can I come in and see? I used to be in law enforcement myself, so maybe I can help mediate or something?" Vine asked, tucking his notebook into his pocket. "I'm a tactical officer in Paris, I've seen my fair share of trouble and it sounds like you guys could use a hand."
"Really?" Abby questions with a raised brow. "Like SWAT?"
"Not exactly like SWAT but similar enough," Vine clarified, "My unit handles situations that are... let's say, beyond the scope of regular law enforcement, exceptionally delicate situations if you know what I mean. But don't worry, I'm qualified in de-escalation and mediation."
Abby hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Alright, follow me. Maybe you can help calm things down. Lenny can be a bit hot-headed sometimes."
Vine followed Abby behind the counter and through the swinging doors into the kitchen. The scene was chaotic. A brunette, presumably the one who had tried to dine and dash, was standing defiantly next to a sink full of dirty dishes. Her icy blue eyes were flashing, and her hands were clenched into fists. Behind her, shards of broken dishes lay scattered on the floor.
The French man paused, his gaze sweeping over the woman's appearance, taking in every detail. He hadn't expected this troublemaker to be such a breathtaking beauty, even in her clear state of distress. She was a brunette, seemingly in her early twenties, with a remarkably mature figure for her age that could outshine most grown women. Her curves were nothing short of voluptuous, reminiscent of a classic pin-up model. With a notably developed bosom for her age, nearly the size of a ripe coconut, not to mention her wide, childbearing hips that swayed gently with every movement. Her skin was flawless, a creamy white expanse that looked as smooth as silk, inviting touch. Her face was angelic, with full, pouty lips and high cheekbones, framed by a cascade of beautiful chestnut brown waves that tumbled down her shoulders.
This buxom brunette, her hair cut into a sharp bob, wore a simple white t-shirt that was damp and clung to her curves like a lover's caress. The thin fabric was nearly transparent, revealing the white lace bra beneath that struggled to contain her ample cleavage, her nipples pressing insistently against the delicate material, leaving little to the imagination. Her jeans were painted onto her shapely legs and rounded hips, hugging every curve and contour like a second skin, accentuating her every asset.
But it was her eyes that truly captivated him—a piercing blue, filled with a fiery intensity and a depth that belied her youthful appearance. Vine shook his head sharply, a scowl darkening his features as he attempted to banish the explicit thoughts that flooded his mind. Now was not the time to be intoxicated by her sensual allure; he needed to maintain his focus, his control, lest he be drawn into her enticing web and lose himself completely. He was not some inexperienced youth, easily swayed by desire.
"Merde," Vine muttered under his breath, mentally slapping himself and steadily his nerve as he approached the quarreling pair. "Thank you, Abby. I'll handle this."
Lenny, the owner's daughter, had her hands on her hips and was glaring daggers at the woman. She was tall for a lady and a broad-shouldered woman with a muscular build and a deep tan, wearing a standard button-down with the sleeves rolled up. Her dark hair was cut short, and Her eyes were a stormy gray, and her expression was one of barely contained anger. Yeah, this woman definitely looks like she goes to the gym a lot or she is in the military.
Lenny, the owner's daughter, towered over the woman, her muscular arms crossed and eyes storming with anger. "You're not getting out of this one," she growled.
"Those dishes don't break themselves."
The woman, undeterred, glared back at her. "I told you, it was an accident. And I don't have the fucking money to pay for your overpriced shit anyway."
Lenny sneered. "Well, those dishes are gonna cost you. 150 bucks should do it."
Vine stepped between them, his voice calm yet firm. "I'll cover it."
Lenny and the woman both turned to stare at him, surprise etched on their faces. "Who the hell are you?" The hulking women demanded.
The Frenchman didn't blink. "A concerned customer who doesn't want to see an unfair fight. And I'm sure you don't want that kind of scene in your diner, right, Madame Lenny?"
Lenny scoffed. "This isn't your business, man. She broke our dishes, she paid."
Vine's gaze flicked from Lenny to the woman, his expression unreadable. "Let me put it in another way then, It's bad for business, Madame Lenny. People don't want to see a hungry, desperate woman being thrown out. Let me pay, and we can all move on."
Lenny's eyes narrowed, her fists clenched. Vine could sense the tension yet he refused to yield, holding her gaze with unwavering steadiness. After what felt like an eternity, Lenny relented, her posture relaxing and her expression softening. "Fine. If you can pay for the damn dishes and food, we'll forget about it."
"That's good to hear," Vine said, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, retrieving a wad of cash. "Here you go, Madame."
Meanwhile the brunette, still staring at Vine, her icy blue eyes widening and a frown forming on her lips. "No way, you're paying for this?!" She blurted, the disbelief in her tone obvious.
"It's a reasonable price to avoid any… unnecessary drama."
"I'm not some damsel in distress, asshole." She grumbled, crossing her arms across her chest, emphasizing her ample bust.
The Foreigner arched an eyebrow. "What do I look like? A knight in shining armor? I'm a pragmatic guy who knows how and when to avoid an unnecessary confrontation. There's no point in starting a fight for something so stupidly trivial."
The woman snorted. "Spoken like a true pussy. But, whatever. Thanks, I guess."
"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that." The French man turned his attention back to Lenny. "There, problem solved. You got your money and nobody has to get hurt."
"Whatever. Just get the fuck outta here."
Without another word, Vine and the brunette turned and left the kitchen and out of the Diner. Once they were out of sight, he turned to her, and this time his gaze unabashedly swept over her slightly smaller form appreciatively before meeting her eyes. "I'm going to ask you a question, but I think I already know the answer based on what I've seen so far. So here it is: What is a stunning woman like you doing in a situation like this?"
The young woman furrowed her brow, her expression guarded. "What do you mean?"
Vine sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Let me rephrase that. How does a woman like you end up in a situation where she resources to Dine and Dash and is about to get into a fistfight with someone twice her size?"
The brunette crossed her arms defensively over her ample chest, her eyes narrowing. "Well, I could ask you the same thing. How does a man like you end up paying for a stranger's meal?"
The older man shrugged nonchalantly, his gaze lingering on her damp shirt. "You look cold. I recommend you change into something less… damp and more appropriate. You might catch a chill walking around like that."
She snorted derisively. "I can take care of myself, thank you very much."
The Frenchman smirked, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Sure you are, although I've never seen someone get that wet from washing a few dishes. It's quite the sight of the aftermath."
The brunette glared at him, her expression souring. "Give me a damn break. It's my first time, okay? I've never washed a single dish in my life. We usually have someone else do it for us."
Vine chuckled, his voice low and husky. "Well, there's a first time for everything, mi lady. And I must say, you look like the kind of woman that makes even the simplest tasks look… intriguing." His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he turned and continued walking, leaving the young woman to follow, her cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and… wait… arousal maybe?
Vine paused, allowing the tranquility of his surroundings to wash over him. The leaves of the trees whispered softly as they danced in the gentle breeze, and flowers swayed gracefully, bathed in the warm, orange hue of the setting sun. The air was crisp and invigorating, filled with the scent of freshly cut grass and damp earth. His gaze was drawn to a bench beneath a sprawling maple tree, its gnarled roots stretching out like welcoming arms. The spot felt oddly familiar, beckoning him to rest. He walked over and sat down, a sigh of relief escaping his lips as his weary muscles finally found solace.
The Foreigner turned to the brunette standing nearby, her arms wrapped around herself in a protective stance. "It's quite beautiful, isn't it?" he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "This is my first time in Boston, and I must say, I couldn't have asked for a more picturesque introduction. Come, sit down with me. You look like you could use a moment's respite after what you've been through."
The young woman hesitated, her eyes scanning the park warily before finally settling on Vine. She bit her lower lip, considering his offer, before eventually nodding and taking a seat beside him. Her body was tense, her posture guarded, yet there was a certain vulnerability in her eyes that she couldn't quite hide.
For a while, neither of them spoke, content to simply enjoy each other's company and the peaceful scenery. The park was filled with the distant laughter of children playing, the soft murmurs of couples walking hand in hand, and the occasional bark of a dog eagerly chasing after a frisbee. Yet, despite the idyllic setting, Vine noticed the young woman occasionally glancing around, her eyes darting from one end of the park to the other as if expecting something—or someone—to disrupt their tranquil moment.
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long, dramatic shadows across the park, Vine cleared his throat, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them. "Hey, can I ask you something?" he began, his voice tentative yet genuine.
The young woman turned to him, her eyes narrowing slightly as she regarded him with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. "Depends," she replied cautiously. "What do you want to know?"
Vine hesitated, choosing his words carefully before continuing. "I don't mean to pry, but... are you running away from something? Or someone?"
The young brunette's expression hardened, her eyes flashing with a sudden intensity that caught Vine slightly off guard. She turned away from him, her gaze fixed on some distant point in the park as she considered his question. The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy with unspoken words, before she finally let out a soft sigh, her shoulders slumping slightly as she turned back to face him.
"What?" The brunette's voice was sharp, her expression hardening. "Why would you think that?"
The French man held up his hands defensively. "I saw that look before. The way you carry yourself, the way you talk, I see the way you occasionally fidgeted in your seat when a car drove by. Tell me, are you in danger in any way?"
"It's... complicated," The young brunette admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "But yes, in a way, I suppose I am running away. Or at least, trying to outrun something that I can't quite seem to escape."
Vine nodded slowly, his gaze steady as he took in the pain etched on her face and the fear lurking in her piercing blue eyes. Whatever she was running from had left a deep, dark shadow over her life, and he felt an unexpected urge to shield her, to help her carry the weight she'd been shouldering alone.
"That's understandable," he said softly. "But you shouldn't be afraid to ask for help. Sometimes, the best way out of a situation is to reach out to others. There's a saying: a burden shared is a burden halved.' A good man in my unit once told me that, and he was right. We all need help from time to time, no matter how strong or independent we are."
The brunette arched an eyebrow, her expression skeptical. "Is that why you stepped in and paid for the dishes I broke? Because you think I need help?"
Vine shrugged nonchalantly. "Could be anything really. But I figured you didn't intend to cause trouble, that something pushed you to act that way. We've all made mistakes, and that's okay. Nobody's perfect."
She scoffed, her eyes narrowing slightly. "I'm not sure why you're being so nice to me. We barely know each other. For all you know, I could be a terrible person."
"Are you?" Vine challenged gently.
"Well, no, At least, I don't think so?… I don't want to end up like my father—" The brunette bombshell shivered as a cold gust of wind swept past, leaving goosebumps on her exposed skin. "Fuck, it's freezing. I can't believe it's so cold."
The French men glanced at her, noticing her rubbing her arms to keep warm. He chuckled softly. "Need a hand?"
"Shut up," she retorted, but there was no real heat behind her words.
"Here," The displaced man said, removing his jacket and draping it around her shoulders. "Better, Ice Princess?"
The brunette shot him an icy glare. "What the fuck did you just call me?"
"Ice Princess," he repeated, a smirk playing on his lips.
"That's fucking stupid," she snapped.
"You're not exactly denying it," Vine pointed out, amused.
"Yeah, because it's fucking stupid. What kind of a name is that anyway?" The brunette bombshell demanded, rolling her eyes.
Vine's smirk deepened. "The kind that suits someone as cold as you. You've got this icy exterior, but I think there's a warmth underneath that you're trying to hide."
She snorted derisively. "Very funny. Look, I don't need you, your charity, or your damn jacket. I'm not some helpless damsel in distress. I can take care of myself, and I've done a pretty good job of it so far, haven't I?"
"Are you sure that is the case?" the older man muttered quietly, his eyes briefly flicking down to her exposed bra and generous asset before meeting her gaze again. Vine held up his hands in a placating gesture, a subtle smirk playing on his lips. "I'm not suggesting that you can't take care of yourself, madame. I'm simply offering my assistance. Besides, I can't let you walk around with your lingerie on display, now can I? You'll attract the wrong kind of attention if you catch my drift."
The young woman blinked and looked down, seeing her bra visible for all to see, the damp fabric clinging to her skin and leaving little to the imagination. "Shit, this day just keeps getting better and better," she muttered sarcastically. "You couldn't have mentioned this earlier?"
The French man chuckled, his voice low and husky. "To be fair, I did suggest you change into something more appropriate, but you seemed rather... uncooperative at the time."
The Young brunette beauty grumbled under her breath, her cheeks flushing pink with embarrassment. "Whatever. Just forget it, okay?"
"If you say so, Madame," Vine conceded, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I was wondering, though, would you mind if I asked you a few more questions? I promise, nothing too personal."
The young woman eyed him warily, her arms crossing protectively over her chest, the damp fabric of her shirt clinging to her skin and accentuating her curves. Her shapely well-rounded breasts pressed tightly together, leaving little to the imagination. "What kind of questions?" she asked, her voice laced with suspicion.
Vine leaned back, his gaze steady and unwavering, taking in the sight before him appreciatively with a smile. "Well, for starters, what's your name?"
The brunette hesitated, biting her lower lip as she debated whether to trust him with her identity. She uncrossed her arms, her rosy pink nipples hardening slightly from the chill, poking through the thin, wet fabric of her bra. She let out a small sigh, resigning herself to the situation. "My name is Emma. Emma Frost."
Vine raised an eyebrow, a look of contemplating and interest flashing across his face. "Emma Frost, huh? Now that's a name I won't forget." He extended his hand towards her, a slow, sensual smile spreading across his lips. "Vincenzo Lazaro Chow, but you can call me Vine. It's a pleasure to meet you, Emma. Now I have a few questions that need to be answered and I admit some of the questions can be quite… Strange to you."
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-Vine Journal Entry: 37-
SAINTE MÈRE DE DIEU!
IM AM IN THE FUCKING MARVEL UNIVERSE!
HOW IN THE FUCK?
After 48 hours of nonstop wandering, by fucking foot might I add, got me to the City of Boston in the state of Massachusetts, and after getting familiar with one of the Local around here, she showed me around town and gave me a basic understanding of the place and the surrounding area.
I've never visited America before, but my parents have, and while I found Boston to be quite charming, it still doesn't hold a candle to Paris in my eyes. However, my stay here has been made significantly more intriguing by someone I've met. She's a remarkably stunning young woman with a figure that's unusually voluptuous for her age, almost to the point of seeming unreal—as if a Victoria's Secret model and an exaggerated anime femme fatale were blended together. Others might even compare her to a character straight out of hentai, though I wouldn't go that far. Despite her polished and sophisticated exterior, it's evident that she hails from a wealthy yet troubled and oppressive background, details of which I've gleaned from our conversations.
I helped her out of a predicament and after divulging my "little problem" to her, she offered to let me stay in her place at a hotel downtown. Her name is Emma Frost, a strangely familiar sounding name, was aloof towards me at first but eventually warmed up after we talked for a while. Currently Living in a dingy-looking hotel, doing the occasional odd job in the area like working as a waiter.
After I got my bearings in the city, I realized I was knee-deep in shit and not the metaphorical kind. I was somehow thrown back into the 1990s, and the internet was barely a toddler, making my research about as easy as swimming in concrete boots. I tried calling up my contacts, but the numbers were about as useful as a chocolate teapot. The local payphones had these brick-like phone books that were absolutely worthless. And the cherry on top? The local library introduced me to Captain America's smiling mug in a fucking history book.
I went through the five stages of grief faster than a cheap hooker in a seedy motel. Denial—there's no fucking way I'm in the Marvel universe. Anger—who the fuck did this to me? Bargaining—okay, universe, if this is a joke, ha-ha, very funny, now bring me back. Depression—I'm never going to see my home again, am I? And finally, acceptance—fuck me, I'm stuck in the 90s Marvel universe. No smartphones, no GPS, no easy way back to my own time or dimension. Shit.
Now, I'm going to give it one more shot to confirm what I've learned. But from what I've seen so far, it's not looking good. The gossip rags are chattering about some playboy named Tony Stark, news reports are filled with superhuman incidents and the word "mutant" being tossed around, and there are all these groundbreaking scientific discoveries led by some guy named Reed Richards. Corporations like Oscorp, Roxxon Energy, and Stark Industries are all over the news. It's like I've been dropped into a fucking comic book.
Okay, maybe I panicked too soon. This isn't ideal, but it's not the end of the world. Especially considering what I have with me—my seemingly magical notebook. In this context, it might as well be an artifact of immense power. So, maybe, just maybe, there's hope. Time to roll with the punches and figure out how to navigate this crazy new world. Maybe I can even find a way back home, or at least make the most of my time here. After all, if life gives you lemons, make the best goddamn lemonade in your life.
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[End of Part 1]
AN: There you have it, finally! I must admit, writing this chapter has been quite the draw, but I did it. I've reached the end of the writing process for this chapter, but I've decided that it would be best to split it into two parts. Before I post the second part, I want to ensure it's polished, so I'll be double-checking for any mistakes and inconsistencies.
I'm eager to hear your thoughts on the story so far. If you're enjoying it, please let me know by liking and following for more chapters. As always, I genuinely appreciate your readership and support. Keep an eye out for the update coming soon! Thank you for your patience, that is all.