Scenario:Thanos was som of hulk
Create my version of this story
“Son, can you come here for a second?”
I look up from my project to see my father standing in the doorway.
I nod and set down my screwdriver before hopping off the workbench.
He smiles at me as I approach, and I can’t help but smile back.
My father is a scientist, just like me.
He’s also the world’s most powerful superhero, but that’s beside the point.
He takes a deep breath.
I already know what he’s going to say.
I’ve known for a while now, but I just couldn’t bring myself to confront it until now.
My mother isn’t who I thought she was.
He is not just my father; he is also my mother.
The revelation hits me like a ton of bricks, and I feel like I can’t breathe.
I stare at him in shock, unable to form words or thoughts to process the information he just gave me.
He’s my mom?
No, that can’t be right.
That doesn’t make any sense.
He’s always been my dad, and she’s always been my mom.
I was born different.
My skin is green, which makes me stand out in a world where everyone else has normal skin tones.
It also makes people afraid of me.
Afraid of what they don’t understand.
They’re afraid that I’ll turn into the Hulk one day and bring destruction down on us all… just like my father did when he was younger, before he learned how to control his emotions and his transformations.
My mother was one of those people who was afraid of me at first.
She couldn’t understand how the man she loved could give birth to a mutant freak like me, so she left us when I was very young, and I never saw her again.
But that’s okay, because I still had my dad.
We’ve always been close, ever since I was a baby.
He’s always been there for me, teaching me how to harness my strength and use it for good in the world… just like him.
We spend a lot of time in his laboratory, where we work on scientific experiments together.
He encourages me to follow my passions and always do what I think is right.
I love him more than anything else in the world, and I know that he loves me, too.
But there’s something different about me that sets me apart from everyone else, something that I’ve always felt self-conscious about.
And now, I finally have an explanation for it.
But it’s not an explanation that I’m ready to hear, and definitely not one that I’m prepared to accept.
“No,” I tell my father, shaking my head.
“I don’t want to hear this right now.
I need a minute to process everything you just told me.”
He nods, and I run out of the room before he can stop me.
I can hear him calling my name, but I keep running until I make it to my bedroom and slam the door behind me.
I lock it so that no one can come in, then I sit down on my bed and bury my head in my hands.
This is all too much to handle right now, and I need some time to myself before I can deal with it.
I have always known that my parents loved each other very much.
My mother died when I was just a baby, but her memory has always lived on in our home.
My father put up pictures of her in every room, and he tells me stories about her all the time.
Despite the fact that I never got to know her, I still feel like I have a connection with her.
Like she’s watching over me from Heaven, keeping me safe and guiding me through life.
My parents got married when they were very young.
They were still in college, but they didn’t let that stop them from building a life together.
They wanted to have children right away, so they started trying for a baby as soon as they could.
My mother got pregnant a few months later, and that’s when I was conceived.
She was so excited to be a mom, and she couldn’t wait to meet me.
But when I was born, something was wrong with me.
My skin was green, which made me look very different from other babies.
My mother didn’t know how to handle it at first.
She was afraid of me, and she couldn’t understand how this happened or what it meant for our family.
She thought that I might be a freak or a monster, so she left us when I was very young and never came back.
She died not long after that, which broke my father’s heart into a million pieces.
But he never let his grief show to the world.
He was always strong for me, taking care of me and making sure that I had everything I needed to live a happy and healthy life.
When I was a child, I used to ask my father questions about my mother all the time.
I wanted to know what she looked like or what she liked to do for fun.
I wanted to know if I looked like her or acted like her in any way.
But my father never told me very much.
He said that she had long brown hair and bright green eyes like mine.
He said that she had a pretty smile and a sweet voice.
And he said that she loved the stars more than anything else in the world, because they reminded her of how small we are in the grand scheme of things.
My father would take me outside every night to stargaze with him.
We would lie on a blanket in our backyard and look up at the sky together, trying to count all of the stars we could see before we fell asleep.
It became one of our favorite things to do together, and it always made me feel closer to my mother somehow… even though I never got to meet her in person.
As I got older, I stopped asking my father questions about my mother.
I knew that he didn’t like talking about her very much, so I stopped bringing it up altogether.
But there were still times when I couldn’t help but wonder what things might have been like if she were still alive today.
If we would have been close or if we would have gotten along well with each other.
If we would have been happy together as a family or if things would have turned out differently for us in the end.
The older that I got, the harder it became for me to ignore all of the questions that I had about my mother and our family’s past.
And the harder it became for me to stop myself from asking those questions out loud again anyway.
My curiosity only deepened over time, fueling my desire to learn more about where I came from and the family that I never knew I had before now.
Yet every time that I tried to bring these things up with my father again, he would either change the subject or shut down completely instead… sometimes even both at the same time if I tried hard enough to push his buttons.
And no matter how hard that I tried to pry those answers out of him or how many times that I asked him nicely to tell me the truth at long last, he would never give me a straight answer in return.
He would only say that it was too soon for me to know or that it was too painful for him to talk about… at least not yet anyway.
It broke my heart that I wasn’t able to talk to my father about these things in the same way that we used to talk to each other about everything else before now.
It made me feel like he was shutting me out of his life on purpose a little bit and that he didn’t trust me enough to share his secrets with me anymore… even though I had never given him a reason not to trust me with them in the first place.
It made me feel sad that he was hurting so much inside over the loss of my mother or that he was trying so hard to hide his pain from me, out of fear that it would hurt me too much to know the truth someday; maybe even making it worse than it actually was because of how late he chose to tell me in the end anyway.
It made me feel frustrated that he wasn’t willing to open up and tell me things that I deserve to know at long last so that I could stop worrying about them altogether and move on with my life without them still holding me back in some way… but I understood his reasons for keeping these things hidden from me, and I didn’t want to make him upset or angry with me regardless.
I only wanted him to be honest and open with me again, like we used to be in the past, so that I could have a better understanding of what my life is supposed to be like now that I know the truth about myself and our family’s past for sure… maybe even be able to find a way for us to connect with each other in a more meaningful way because of it too, if that were something that I still wanted or needed at this point in time after all that we have been through together so far already…