Mildly obsessed with X-Men

[pinkpenguin29]

The Swoose

[pinkpenguin29]

The following is from my fanfic

X-Men Evolution Redone

Chapter 5 Speed and Spyke

The ancestral ruby pendant felt warm against Ororo Munroe’s palm as she turned it over and over in her hand. The deep crimson stone, passed down through generations of strong women in her mother’s line, caught the light and seemed to pulse with memory. She closed her fingers around it, the familiar weight grounding her, just as it had since she was six years old.

Her mother, N'Darè, had left the plains of Africa to study at a university in New York. There, in the bustling streets, she met David Munroe—an American student with a big smile. Their love was fierce and immediate. They married, settled into a life in Harlem, and welcomed Ororo into the world.

When Ororo was only six months old, David received a promising job offer in Egypt. The young family packed their lives into crates and crossed the world to Cairo.

Ororo still remembered the roar of the plane crashing into their neighborhood, the world tilting violently as their home collapsed in a storm of dust and debris. She had been buried alive beneath the rubble, her tiny body pressed against the broken bodies of her parents. Hours blurred into suffocating darkness, her screams trapped in her throat. When she finally clawed her way free, coughing and trembling, she had only the tattered clothes on her back and her mother’s ruby pendant.

The claustrophobia that still gripped her in tight spaces had been born in that rubble tomb.

Homeless and orphaned on the unforgiving streets of Cairo, a small girl with striking white hair and wide, haunted eyes was soon discovered by a gang of street urchins. They brought her to their master, Achmed El Gibár. Under his harsh but effective guidance, Ororo learned to survive. She became swift and silent—begging with tear-filled eyes one moment, picking pockets and locks with nimble fingers the next. At barely six years old, one of her first marks had been an American tourist. Her small hand had darted toward his wallet with practiced ease.

That tourist had been Charles Xavier.

But that’s a story for another day.

Their paths would cross again.

Years later, when Ororo was fourteen, and the streets had shaped her into something fierce and untamed—rumored even to be treated as a living goddess by some in Africa—David’s brother and his wife arrived. They had believed the entire family was lost in the crash. The shock of finding Ororo alive, wild, and powerful, nearly broke them. After long, tear-filled conversations that stretched late into the night, they made a choice: they would bring her back to Harlem and raise her alongside their own daughter, Vivian.

From that moment on, Vivian—bright, warm-hearted Vi—became the sister Ororo had never known she needed. The two girls grew up side by side in Harlem. Each year, the family returned to Africa, walking the paths where N'Darè and David had once dreamed, keeping Ororo connected to the parents who had been taken from her too soon. Those trips would blend the wild freedom of her past with the love of her new family.

And now, years later, that same love pulled Ororo toward another young soul fighting to find his place.

Her nephew Evan—Vi’s son—carried the same fire and hidden storm within him. Ororo had watched him grow from a bright-eyed boy into a stubborn young man. She sensed his mutant gift awakening before he did, much like Xavier had once sensed it in her. Tonight, in a packed New York gymnasium, her protective instinct sharpened once again.

Read more here

https://archiveofourown.org/works/86132741/chapters/231801676

[pinkpenguin29]

The following scene is from X-Men Evolution redone, a complete rewrite of the cartoon in process. From Chapter 4, Mutant Crush.

The sun cut sharply through the blinds of Principal Darkhölme’s office, casting harsh lines across the desk where Fred’s new schedule lay.

“And this will be your schedule for the semester,” Darkhölme said, sliding the paper across the desk with practiced professionalism. “Any questions, Mr. Dukes?”

Fred shifted uncomfortably in the small plastic chair, which creaked dangerously under his weight. He picked up the sheet and stared at the lines of text. His thick finger moved slowly across the page, tracing under each line. He squinted, brow furrowing deeper with every second.

“I don’t know if I can go back to school, ma'am,” he muttered. “I didn’t exactly fit in at the other ones. The reading stuff… it never made sense. People find things to say.”

“You won’t have that trouble here,” Darkhölme replied, her eyes flashing with a coldness. “As the Principal, I have ways of making sure of it.”

Fred took the paper and stood up, shuffling out into the bustling hallway. The bell had just rung, and the corridor was a sea of overwhelming clanging of slamming locker doors and rushing students. He squinted at the numbers. Trying to read the words. “This is complicated…”

Duncan Matthews hurried past, a leather varsity jacket slung over his shoulder, entirely focused on his phone. Fred reached out, his massive hand clamping down onto the collar of Duncan’s jacket, freezing the jock in his tracks.

“Hey. Hey, you,” Fred grunted. “Where am I supposed to be?”

Duncan blinked, looking at the massive hand on his shoulder before looking up at Fred’s imposing frame. A cruel, arrogant smirk quickly cut across his face. “I don’t know, man. How ‘bout a sideshow? Did the zoo lose a gate?”

Duncan burst into a loud, mocking laugh, looking around to see if his teammates had caught the joke.

Fred’s expression darkened instantly, a dangerous, volatile heat rising in his eyes. With a sudden jerk of his arm, he threw Duncan violently to the linoleum floor.

“Don’t… you… make… fun of me!” Fred roared.

The entire hallway went dead silent. Fred reached out, his thick fingers sinking into the solid steel edges of a locker bank. With a sickening screech of tearing metal, he ripped a cluster of three lockers completely off the wall, lifting them over his head, ready to crush Duncan beneath the iron weight.

Duncan’s smirk vanished, his face going completely white as he scrambled backward against the floor. “Woah, woah, hey, woah!”

“Uh, him—uh, you must be new here!”

Jean Grey broke through the crowd, her green eyes wide but remarkably steady. She stepped directly into Fred’s line of sight, forcing him to stop mid-swing.

Fred blinked, breathing raggedly. He lowered the lockers. “Hey… hey. Yeah. I am new. I mean.” He paused, searching for the words. “I got this… thing. Schedule. But the words… they don’t… It’s too confusing.”

“I’m Jean Grey,” she said, keeping her voice calm. “Welcome to Bayville. What do your friends call you?”

Fred hesitated, then carefully set the lockers back in place. “Don’t really have any. Name’s Fred. Fred Dukes.”

He extended a hand. Jean didn’t hesitate; she reached out and shook his massive hand firmly. The movement caused the loosely stacked lockers to tilt forward slightly, rattling.

Fred hesitated, cheeks coloring. He hated admitting it, but the relief was immediate. “Yes. Uh… please. I ain’t… real fast with reading this kinda stuff.”

“Okay, let’s see…” Jean took the crumpled paper. As she read the room numbers aloud, Fred listened intently—his face relaxing once the information came through spoken words rather than print. 

“Well, Fred, I want to apologize for Duncan,” Jean said, bending down gracefully to retrieve the schedule he had dropped during the scuffle. “He can be a real idiot sometimes.” She looked over the paper, her red hair falling over her shoulder. “Hey, do you want me to show you where this class is?”

Fred’s chest stopped heaving, a bashful, disbelieving look replacing his anger. “Yes. Uh, please.”

“Okay, let’s see… your first class is right over there,” Jean said, pointing toward a classroom down the opposite hall. She handed the schedule back to him, her fingers brushing against his. “Don’t worry. The first day is always the roughest. It gets better. I’ll see you around.”

She gave him a quick wave and turned to walk away.

Fred watched her go, a slow, dazed smile spreading across his broad face. “You sure will.”

To read more please read at AO3.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/86132741/chapters/227769686

[pinkpenguin29]

X-Men Evolution Redone: Season One Episode Three: Rogue Recuit

The riverboat glowed under strings of colored lights, and music thumped across the Mississippi. Rogue tugged at the long sleeves of her jacket; the fabric suddenly felt confining. Cody kept his arm around her waist, grinning like they were the only two people in the world.

“Relax, Anna-Marie,” he whispered. “Destiny’s not gonna find out. You deserve a night out.”

Rogue bit her lip, glancing over her shoulder as if her adoptive guardian might appear from the shadows. “She’s only tryin’ to protect me, Cody.”

Cody rolled his eyes, the motion sharper than he probably meant. “She’s controlling; that’s what she is. Forcing you to dress like a nun in the middle of summer? Banning you from dating at seventeen? You’re not fragile. You’re amazing.”

The words sounded sweet, but they stirred something uneasy in Rogue’s chest. Destiny had always said the same things—I’m the only one who understands you. The only family you have. The world will hurt you if you let it. Over and over until Rogue had started repeating them herself. She pushed the doubt down and let Cody pull her onto the dance floor.

For a few minutes, everything felt right. The beat pulsed through her. Cody leaned in, eyes soft, and their lips met. Their first kiss. Their only kiss. His last kiss.

Rogue gasped as images, memories, and emotions that weren’t hers slammed into her skull. Cody’s strength, his football plays, his secret fears—all of it flooded her. He collapsed in her arms, eyes rolling back.

Rogue staggered back as the surge hit her; the raw flood of Cody’s life crashed through her veins like ice and fire. Suddenly, she wasn’t herself anymore.

A sharp crack split the air in her mind. She felt the sting before she saw it—small hands flying up too late as a heavy palm slammed across a boy’s cheek. The force snapped his head sideways; the taste of blood bloomed on his tongue. Cody’s stepfather loomed over him, face twisted in drunken rage. “You worthless little shit,” the man snarled. The boy’s knees buckled, but he didn’t cry out. He’d learned that much already.

Rogue gasped, her own cheek burned as if the blow had landed on her. A wave of shame and helpless fury twisted in her chest—not mine, not mine—but the memory clung, sinking deeper.

Then the scene shifted.

Cody, still small, knelt beside his mother on the threadbare carpet. She was curled in on herself, sobbing so hard her whole body shook. His thin arms wrapped around her shoulders, desperate and trembling. “It’s okay, Mama. I’m here. I’ll protect you.” His voice cracked with the weight of a promise no child should have to make. For one fragile second, she leaned into him—then shoved him away so violently he tumbled backward, cracking his elbow on the floor.

“Leave me alone!” she screamed, eyes wild with grief and something darker. “Just… leave me alone.”

The rejection sliced through Rogue like a blade. She clutched her head; tears stung her eyes that weren’t hers. The loneliness was suffocating—an aching hollow where love should have been, the constant fear that anyone she reached for would eventually push her away. She felt Cody’s small, shattered heart breaking all over again inside her own chest, the way he’d swallowed the hurt and stood back up anyway, because that was all he knew how to do.

Rogue breathed hard; the weight of his pain settled heavily in her bones. These weren’t just memories. They were wounds she now carried too, and impossible to forget.

“Aaah! Mah—mah head!” Rogue clutched her temples, staggering. “All these images… What’s happenin’ to me? What am Ah? Who am Ah?”

A teen boy nearby stared in horror. “Cody? Cody, what’s wrong? What did you do to him?!”

Rogue’s eyes filled with tears. She bolted, shoving through the crowd with unnatural force, like a frightened linebacker breaking through the line.

A house not too far away…

Destiny sat bolt upright in her chair, cards scattering across the table. “No! Don’t touch him! Oh, my dear child…”

At the Xavier Institute, The Danger Room

Massive hydraulic arms unfolded from the walls, accompanied by a chorus of hissing servos and grinding metal. Pistons slammed into the floor, sending tremors through the reinforced plating. Overhead, heavy steel beams swung on thick chains while floor panels shifted and rose into jagged obstacles.

Wolverine crouched low, claws out, a feral grin splitting his face. He moved like a runaway freight train—ducking under a sweeping mechanical limb, slashing through a descending piston with three bright sparks, then vaulting over a rising barrier. His boots barely touched the floor before he was charging the next cluster of whirring arms. He finished his gauntlet with a final savage kick that crumpled a steel plate, then straightened, breathing hard but still grinning.

Storm descended on the opposite side of the chamber with far more grace. Winds coiled around her, lifting her just enough to glide over the first wave of pistons. A flick of her wrist summoned a precise gust that froze the joints of a reaching mechanical claw mid-swing. She touched down lightly, silver hair whipping, and kept moving—elegant, controlled.

She was only two seconds behind him.

As Wolverine turned to boast, Storm’s eyes flashed white. A sharp arctic blast slammed into his chest, lifting him off his feet and dropping him hard onto the grated floor.

Wolverine quipped, "Cute.”

Storm replied, "Then let's warm you up." She tried to hit Wolverine with a small bolt of lightning. Wolverine responded, "Gotta connect first. Got any other party tricks?" The two continued their playful fight, which was damaging the Danger Room.

From the control panel, students Moira MacTaggart and a very frustrated, distraught Alice watched the display.

Moira leaned into the communicator and yelled, "Stop! The two of you are tearing the room apart!"

Wolverine, breathing hard but grinning, answered over the comms, "Hey, when I give a demo, I give a demo."

Scott, from the control room, questioned, "Demo as in demolish or demonstration? What was the point?"

Moira explained, "The point was to show what the Danger Room can do for training yer abilities. Simple as that."

Alice muttered under her breath, "Witnessing unbridled destruction..."

Wolverine defended, "It’s called stress testing."

Kurt cheered, "That was amazing! I give it two thumbs up," while hanging upside down with his thumbs pointed downward.

Alice cautioned, "This is exactly the kind of uncontrolled escalation that leads to cascading system failures," her voice edging into crisis mode.

Wolverine told her to lighten up, saying, "Lighten up, this ain’t nothin’”

Moira shot Wolverine a look, who responded with a quick, "Alright, alright."

Kitty shivered. "Is anyone else freaked out by this?" she asked, then at the others' blank stares, she realized she was alone in her concern.

Kurt reassured her, "Relax, Kitty. You'll be fine. We're right here with you," then BAMF’ed, holding a bowl of popcorn by his tail.

Startled, Kitty exclaimed, "Aah!" Kurt apologized, "Next time I'll honk before porting."

Kitty brushed it off. She looked around and said, "Look, guys, it’s late. If it’s no biggie to you, I’m going to drop out." She phased through the floor, casting a final nervous glance upward.

Kurt watched the spot where she disappeared, appearing a little deflated. "Ah. She’s not into the fuzzy dude. Not that I really blame her," he muttered.

Jean comforted him. "Aw, she just needs time, Kurt. She’ll come around."

The door to the observation deck opened, and Professor Xavier entered, his expression grave.

"X-Men, we have an emergency," he announced. "Scott, get the Blackbird prepped for launch, and since it’s a weekend, assemble the full team."

"Yes, sir. What’s the mission?" Scott asked.

"Cerebro has detected a new mutant in Caldecott County, Mississippi," Prof X replied.

At the Mississippi airport,

Raven was climbing into a limo.

Destiny commented, "You made good time, Raven."

Mystique, as Principal Darkhölme, said, "Our organization's mysterious founder has certain... resources, Irene. What happened?! I left the girl in what I thought was your safekeeping."

Destiny replied, "At the school dance, she accidentally made physical contact with a local boy."

Mystique explained, "Absorbing his memories and physical abilities. Wonderful. We keep her hidden away in this backwater for the better part of five years, and in five minutes it all falls apart. We cannot lose her. Especially not to Xavier. She possesses the potential for limitless power. You can see the future, Irene. Where will she go?"

Destiny responded, "Home... Or what she thinks is home."

Jean Grey stood beside Professor Xavier, her face pale as she gently read the medical staff's thoughts. Cody lay unconscious in the bed, and the monitors beeped softly. The doctors had no idea if—or when—he would wake up.

Jean’s voice was quiet. “Whatever happened to him…” She didn’t finish the statement.

Xavier nodded. “We must find the girl before she hurts anyone else—or herself.”

Back in the limo, pulling up in front of Cody's house, Destiny asked, "Now what? You won't hurt her, will you? After all, Raven, she's our daughter!"

Mystique assured her, "I know, Irene. I know. Trust me. She will come to us willingly... given the right persuasion." She stepped out of the limo and shifted—bones cracking and reforming—into a perfect copy of Wolverine.

In Cody's room, Rogue exclaimed, "All this is... me? Mine? But which me am I?" As the door slammed open, she cried out, "Aah! Ungh! Wh-who are you and what do you want?"

Mystique, as Wolverine, snarled, "You, girly. I want you! Stand still and make it quick. You're dealing with the X-Men now, and you ain't got a chance!"

Rogue pleaded, "X-Men? Ah, don't understand. Ah, just want you to leave me alone!"

Mystique, as Wolverine, howled like a maniac, "One more turn of the screw and you will come running into my arms." She then shifted into Storm.

Mystique chased Rogue as Storm.

Not too far away, Mystique disguised as Storm said, "One well-placed lightning bolt, one ex-mute."

Rogue exclaimed, "Ugh! Aah!" and jumped over a fence, running into Irene.

Destiny called out, "Rogue! It's me, Irene. Try to remember."

Rogue looked confused. "Uh, who? Wait, Irene... Yes, but I'm so confused. Strange thoughts in my head, people chasing me..."

Destiny reassured her. "Easy, easy, honey. The police are coming. The X-Men will not risk a confrontation."

"X-Men?" Rogue repeated.

“Irene… I’m so confused. Strange thoughts in my head… people chasing me…”

“Easy, honey. The X-Men are mutant hunters. We have to get you to Raven. She’ll keep you safe.”

Destiny took her hand and began leading her toward the waiting limo. Rogue was overwhelmed. "Raven? Now? All this is happening so fast. I don't—" Rogue spotted real movement—more figures in the darkness.

She spotted Wolverine and others in the corner of her eye. "It's him! The one who attacked me! Run, Irene! Run!" In her panic, she lost her glove.

Destiny sighed in frustration and moved into the shadows, knowing through her power that Wolverine wouldn’t notice her.

Wolverine nodded. "That's gotta be her."

"Please! Leave me be!" Rogue pleaded, jumping the fence again.

Kurt stepped forward. "Wolverine, wait! She seems terrified of you. Let me try."

Wolverine agreed. "Okay, kid. Just don't mess up, capisce?"

Kurt responded, "Yes, sir!"

"I'll go find the Prof. And, squirt? Put on your best face. No sense freaking the poor kid out any more than she already is. And take half-pint, here?"

"Hey!" Kurt protested.

Kurt activated his image inducer and transformed into his human appearance.

Someone's backyard

Kurt, who was swinging on a swing, greeted Rogue with "Guten tag, Fräulein. Please. Don't be frightened."

Rogue responded skeptically, "What do you want?"

Kurt explained, "To help you. We're the good guys. Especially me."

Kitty phased through a fence and offered to show Kurt something, saying, "Half-pint? I'll show him."

Kurt shared, "I was like you once. Alone, unsure what I was, afraid to show my face. Can you believe it?" Kitty, noticing Rogue, said, "She doesn't look so tough to me," and attacked.

Kurt yelled, "Kitty, no!"

Rogue, startled, threw Kitty off and accidentally grabbed Kurt's holowatch, activating it and absorbing him as he tried to stop her.

She bamf'd away in a panic, activating Kurt's power with an accidental BAMF! Suddenly in the cemetery, Rogue bamf'd and exclaimed in frustration, "Was ist das denn für ein Scheiß?!"

Back in the backyard, Kitty begged Kurt, "Please! Tease me, scare me, anything! Oh, please, don't be dead."

On a quiet street lined with shuttered houses, Professor Xavier’s wheelchair hummed softly under the streetlights. His face tightened with concentration.

“I’ve lost the trail,” he said, his voice heavy. “Cody’s brainwaves have gone cold. I can no longer read him.”

Jean’s face paled beside him. “Professor… what does that mean? Is he—?”

“It may only be temporary,” Xavier replied calmly, though worry creased his brow. “A side effect of Rogue’s power.”

Wolverine, appearing as he jumped over a fence, sniffed the air, claws half-extended. “The girl is about ten blocks due west. The fuzzy elf’s tryin’ to keep her from bolting.”

Xavier nodded. “The rest of you, proceed. I will…”

~PROFESSOR! KURT IS HURT! SHE DID SOMETHING TO HIM~

~Kitty, please, not so loud. I will be there soon.~

In a nearby cemetery

In the moonlit cemetery, headstones cast long shadows against gravel. Jean Grey moved carefully between the graves. She spotted Rogue ahead—her breath ragged, eyes wild with panic.

Rogue froze, chest heaving. Recognition flickered across her face. “Jean Grey…? Ah know you! Leave me be!”

“Easy,” Jean called out gently, hands raised. “Relax. I’m not going to hurt you. If you have memories of who I am, you know I wouldn’t hurt you.”

Then Cyclops and Storm approached. Rogue saw Storm, freaked out, and ran away from the group. “No, No!” She turned a corner around a mausoleum.

Suddenly, a figure in red visor optics stepped out from the shadows—Cyclops, or so it seemed.

“You’re done running,” Mystique-as-Cyclops snarled. “The X-Men don’t leave loose ends. Stand still, and this’ll be over quick.”

Rogue cried out in pain and fear. “No! Leave me alone! Ah, didn’t ask for any of this!”

Then, as Rogue ran away, the fake Cyclops shifted in an instant, bones cracking and reforming into Jean Grey’s form, then catching up to Rogue. “Look at her,” Mystique-as-Jean lamented, voice dripping with false pity. “Should have known redneck trash was beyond help.”

Terrified, Rogue, running out of places to go, frantically darted and crashed into the real Jean Grey as she rounded a corner.

Rogue collapsed onto the floor.

“Rogue? Are you hurt?”

Storm moved closer, trying to reach her. “We only want to—”

Their hands brushed. Rogue gasped as Storm’s powers surged into her. The sky crackled overhead. Rogue collapsed to one knee, eyes glowing white.

“Ah can’t—Ah can’t stop it!” she screamed. Then she started rising into the air.

Wind whipped violently through the yard. Lightning forked across the sky. Scott rushed forward to help, but Rogue’s stolen powers lashed out uncontrollably. Jean threw up a telekinetic shield, straining to contain the chaos, but Rogue was already overwhelmed.

“No more!” Rogue wailed. With Kurt’s powers, she bamf'd away in a cloud of sulfurous smoke, leaving only the echo of her scream behind.

Scott lowered his visor, scanning the empty air. “What the hell just happened to her?”

Xavier’s voice came through their comms, steady but grim. “She’s gone. Teleported somewhere far. And I suspect another hand is at work here.”

Wolverine sniffed the lingering air and growled. “Damn it. Mystique. Slippery blue bitch.”

“Language Wolverine!” The professor snapped.

Kitty stood up, fists clenched. “Who is that? We have to go after them!”

Professor Xavier’s tone was firm. “No. The girl must come to us willingly, Kitty. For now, we tend to our own. We’ve done enough damage tonight, and I would like to get everyone safely home.”

Kurt stirred, groaning as he pushed himself up. A weak grin crossed his face. “Did I… miss a party?”

Kitty’s face lit up with relief. She dropped down and pulled him into a hug. “Kurt! You’re okay! Everything’s going to be fine, I promise. Just… don’t scare me like that again.”

Kurt chuckled softly and leaned into her. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Kätzchen.”

—

Once Rogue was inside the ‘safety’ of Destiny's waiting limo, the door clicked shut with a heavy Thunk. Rogue huddled in the back seat, trembling, still catching fragments of Cody’s pain and Kurt’s recent memory of a crowd about to kill him.

Destiny slid in beside her, wrapping a gentle arm around Rogue’s shoulders. “There, there, my sweet girl. You’re safe now. Mama Irene’s got you.”

Rogue looked up, eyes wide and haunted. “Irene… they came after me. The X-Men—they tried to hurt me. That man who looked like Wolverine… he said he was gonna—”

“Shhh.” Destiny stroked her hair, her voice soft and soothing, almost hypnotic. “You poor thing. You’re so confused right now, aren’t you? Those people were trying to lie to you, Anna-Marie. They hunt our kind. They wanted to take you away from us. From your real family.”

Mystique, reverting to her true self form of a nondescript driver up front, glanced back in the rearview mirror. Her voice was calm, affectionate. “You did so well tonight, Rogue. But you have to trust us. The world is cruel to mutants. We’ve told you that.”

Rogue clutched her head. “But… Ah saw things. Felt things. Cody… and then the blue one… Kurt and I saw his memories.”

A sharp silence filled the limo. Destiny’s hand stilled on Rogue’s hair her fingers tensing. In the front seat, Mystique’s shoulders stiffened, her disguised hands gripping the wheel a fraction tighter. The name “Kurt” stirred something complicated behind their carefully constructed masks — a flicker of maternal regret, but neither allowed it to show.

Destiny recovered first, resuming her gentle strokes. “That’s exactly what they do. Xavier and that redheaded girl — Jean — they’re powerful telepaths. They can plant thoughts, twist memories, make you see and feel things that aren’t real at all.”

Mystique nodded from the front, her tone warm yet edged with quiet urgency. “They can make a person doubt everything — even their own family. We’ve seen it before.”

Rogue shifted uncomfortably. “But it felt so real…”

“Of course it did,” Destiny murmured, her blind eyes staring straight ahead as if gazing into futures only she could see. “That’s their greatest trick. They make the false feel true, so you’ll turn away from the people who actually love you. We’ve protected you from their kind of manipulation your whole life.”

One Week Later

Later at Bayville High, the hallways echoed with students' chatter as they rushed between classes. Mystique, perfectly disguised as the stern and authoritative Principal Darkhölme, stood just inside the main office doorway.

She welcomed the new student with a measured, professional smile. “Welcome to Bayville High,” she said smoothly; her voice carried the calm authority of someone who ran the school with an iron grip hidden behind polite words. “You’ll be happy here. Safe. I give you my word on that. I have no doubt you will find your place among us.”

Rogue stood there in her usual long sleeves and gloves, still looking a little dazed from the whirlwind of the previous night. She nodded politely, managing a small, tired smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thank you, ma’am,” she said softly, her Southern accent gentle and respectful. Without another word, she turned and left the office, heading down the hallway toward her first class, her shoulders slightly hunched as if the weight of everything still pressed down on her.

Once Rogue had disappeared around the corner and the hallway had cleared, the office door clicked shut. Magneto stepped out from the side room where he had been waiting, his tall frame imposing even in civilian clothes, a satisfied gleam in his eyes.

“Her power is a valuable addition,” Magneto praised, his voice low and resonant with approval. “Limitless potential wrapped in that fragile frame. She will be magnificent once properly guided.”

Mystique allowed herself a small, satisfied smile as she dropped the Principal Darkhölme disguise for a moment; her blue skin and yellow eyes flickered into view before she resumed the human appearance. She acknowledged they were lucky to have claimed her first. “We were lucky to claim her first, Erik,” she said, a note of triumph in her voice. “Xavier won’t touch her now. She’s finally where she belongs — with us.”

If you would like to read more, please check out the story on AO3

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[pinkpenguin29]

A small suburban home in Deerfield, Illinois.

Kitty Pryde came home early; dance class had been canceled.

Her parents clearly hadn’t heard her come in. In the living room, her mother paced back and forth across the worn rug, arms crossed tightly over her chest, while her father sat on the edge of the couch, rubbing his temples with weary hands.

“I can’t do this anymore, Carmen!” her mother snapped, her voice cracking with exhaustion. “We’re not fixing anything—we’re just dragging out the inevitable.”

Her dad leaned forward, gesturing desperately with both hands. “We have to keep trying, Theresa. For Kitty. She needs us to be stable. We can’t just quit now.”

“Stable?” Her mother let out a bitter laugh, stopping her pacing to glare at him. “I can’t let you drag us down with you. You have a problem.”

At that moment, a floorboard creaked underfoot. Both parents froze mid-gesture, their heads snapping toward the hallway where Kitty stood frozen, eyes wide with shock and betrayal.

In a rush, Kitty bolted toward her bedroom, sobs catching in her throat. Her father could have sworn he had just seen her run straight through the closed door without even touching the knob.

That night, a violent thunderstorm raged outside, rattling the windowpanes. Fifteen-year-old Kitty Pryde twisted tightly in her sheets, caught in a vivid nightmare. In her mind’s eye, she soared high above a quiet town, wind whipping through her hair. Suddenly, the air currents died. Her stomach lurched as she began a terrifying vertical free-fall toward the earth, arms flailing uselessly.

She woke with a gasp, her heart hammering against her ribs. Sweat soaked her pajamas and plastered strands of hair to her forehead. But she wasn’t in her bed. The sensory overload was instantaneous and suffocating—the air was damp and sour, heavy with the scent of old concrete and dust. She lay sprawled on the cold basement floor, her fingers scraping against grit and debris.

Terrified, she looked up just as heavy footsteps hurried overhead. The overhead light flashed on, causing Kitty to see spots as her parents rushed down the wooden stairs, their long shadows stretching across the walls like reaching fingers.

“Kitty! What happened? Were you sleepwalking?” her dad asked, voice thick with worry.

“No!” Kitty’s voice trembled as she hyperventilated, chest heaving. “I fell… I just—I fell straight through the ceiling!”

Her mother knelt beside her, gently trying to soothe her daughter’s shaking shoulders. “Sweetheart, breathe. I’m sure it was just a severe nightmare. You’re exhausted from midterms and everything else.”

“I don’t… think so, Theresa. Look,” her dad said, his voice tight with disbelief. The flashlight beam in his hand shook as he aimed it upward at the basement ceiling.

Halfway fused inside the solid drywall and joists were Kitty’s heavy winter blanket and her open school textbook, permanently trapped between the molecules of the wood and plaster. Threads from the blanket dangled like ghostly roots reaching down, and pages of the textbook fluttered slightly in the draft from the stairs.

Kitty stared at the impossible sight, fresh tears tracking down her face. She reached out a hesitant hand toward the ceiling, then yanked it back as if burned by the sight.

“What am I?!” she whispered hoarsely. “What is happening to me?!”

From X-Men Evolution redone, a full rewrite in progress of the Cartoon X-Men Evolution.

Read more here

https://archiveofourown.org/works/86132741/chapters/227769686#workskin

[pinkpenguin29]

From X-Men Evolution redone:

The Bavarian Alps held the tiny village of Winzeldorf in a quiet embrace of snow-dusted roofs and ancient timber frames. On the outskirts stood a secluded stone cottage where Christian Wagner lived with his wife and their adopted son Kurt. Though the villagers were unaware that Christian had a son, they would meet him that night.

Fifteen-year-old Kurt Wagner hung upside down from the wooden rafters, his tail curled around a beam. His yellow eyes widened with excitement as he tore open the wrapping paper, revealing a professional Nikon D3500 camera.

Kurt let out a delighted laugh, dropped to the floor in a puff of sulphurous smoke, and teleported again with a soft Bamf right in front of his mother. He planted a quick kiss on her cheek before wrapping his father in a fierce hug.

“Danke! Danke! It’s perfect!” he beamed, already turning the camera over in his hands.

His parents exchanged a nervous glance.

“Kurt…” his mother began gently, “you know you must be careful. Especially outside.”

Kurt’s shoulders slumped. The bright joy in his face dimmed, but he forced a brave smile and nodded quickly. “Ja. I know. I will wait for our trip next month.”

With another soft Bamf, he vanished upstairs to his room to experiment with the camera, trying to ignore the familiar ache of loneliness and his longing for friends his own age.

Alone, he stared down at his large, blue, velvet-furred hands. His gaze drifted to the long prehensile tail swaying behind him. Last year, he had locked himself in the bathroom with a pair of scissors, shaking, until his mother gently took them away. Nothing could hide what he was, and God would not want him to harm himself.

He shook off the painful memory and began snapping pictures of carefully arranged objects around his room, trying to lose himself in art. But the walls felt especially close that night.

After a few minutes, he poked his head into the hallway. Seeing his parents busy in the kitchen, he teleported outside with a Bamf, wrapping himself in shadows. His blue fur helped him blend into the darkness as he explored the sleeping village, happily photographing ancient timbered houses and snow-dusted cobblestones.

Then, while adjusting the unfamiliar camera, his finger slipped.

A bright flash cut through the night.

Several villagers turned at the sound. Gasps tore through the quiet as a blue, furry creature with glowing eyes and a whipping tail vanished in a cloud of brimstone smoke.

Bamf.

“There! A demon!”

Bamf.

“It’s over there!”

Kurt’s heart hammered as he teleported desperately from shadow to shadow, the angry mob growing behind him. His foot caught on uneven ground. The camera smashed against the cobblestones. Hands grabbed at him. Someone ripped the rosary from his neck.

“Now, monster, we will be rid of you!”

A powerful voice suddenly rang inside every head: STOP.

The entire mob froze mid-motion, their faces twisted in hatred and fists still raised. One man still clutched Kurt’s rosary in a white-knuckled grip, the beads dangling like a broken promise.

Kurt stared up at them, chest heaving, tears cutting clean trails through the blood and snot on his face.

“Vas…? Zey are not moving!” he stammered, his voice cracking. “Vhat has happened to zem?”

“I happened to them, Kurt,” a calm, warm voice replied from behind him.

Kurt tensed as a man in a wheelchair rolled into view, but something in the stranger’s kind eyes kept him from fleeing. Trembling, he reached out, gently pried the rosary from the frozen man’s grip, and slipped it into his pocket.

“You did zis?” Kurt whispered. “But… how? Vhy?”

“My name is Charles Xavier,” the man said gently. “I came looking for you. When I reached your home, you were already gone. Your parents are terribly worried.”

Kurt wiped his face with the back of his furry hand and straightened as best he could, trying to appear braver than he felt.

“Vhy are you not afraid of me?” he asked, his voice small. “Like everyone else?”

“Because I know you are not a demon, Kurt.” Xavier smiled softly. “You’re a mutant. As am I.”

Kurt’s golden eyes widened. “Zere are… more of us?”

“Yes,” Xavier said. “Some look different, like you. Others have extraordinary abilities — like your gift for teleportation. I would very much like to help you. Why don’t we return to your home and speak with your parents?”

Kurt glanced back at the frozen, snarling faces of the mob.

“Can you make me normal?” he asked quietly.

Xavier regarded him with deep compassion.

“After tonight…” He gestured toward the immobilized crowd. “Would you truly wish to be normal like them?”

Kurt sniffed again, fighting hard to keep fresh tears from falling. “Perhaps not,” he admitted. “But I do not feel like a whole person. Can you help me viz zat?”

“I will do everything in my power,” Xavier promised.

Continue reading here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/86132741/chapters/227769686

[pinkpenguin29]

[pinkpenguin29]

Short King

[pinkpenguin29]

Coming soon

[pinkpenguin29]

From Chapter 16 of Do Technopaths Dream of Electric Sheep

As she gathered her things, she wondered where she was going to go. Her apartment was demolished by a Villain. What was she going to say to her landlord? 

She groaned when she realized all she had to change into was her black dress. She couldn’t find her phone; it must be at the apartment.

A nurse, seeing her movement, hurried over. "Where are you going? The doctors want to keep you for observation. You had a concussion."

Alice tried to force a smile. "I'm okay. I just... I need to go."

She needed to get to what was left of her demolished apartment, pack a bag, and start researching places to stay and figure out what was going on with Hank. 

She tried to keep her mind from spiraling into the inevitable right now. She needed to spend that cerebral energy on solving problems. Focus. Solve the problems now. Freak out later.

She left the hospital in two layers of flimsy hospital socks; the shoes she had been wearing must also have been left in the apartment. 

The walk to her Hell’s Kitchen apartment was a blur of city noise and static. She ducked under police caution tape and surveyed the damage. Of course, her little workstation and computer were crushed under debris. She’d pull out any parts that might be salvageable. Where's Hank? What am I going to tell my landlord? Where am I going to live?

She found her phone; the screen protector and case were scratched, but everything else seemed functional. Her eyes glow, and the battery power goes from 10% to 100%. Then she froze as a wave of nausea hit.

Saturday, 7:35 A.M.

Beep Beep

—

Beep Beep

Then static. A glitch in her mind. One moment, she stood in her wrecked apartment; the next, she was somewhere else.

The floor was solid, not splintered debris. Alice blinked, her technopathy sluggishly parsing the hum of a cheap motel’s wiring. A dingy bed held her duffel bag and box of computer parts, neatly placed. A trash can sat nearby.

Nausea hit.

She stumbled to it and wretched. She gripped the rim, her knuckles white. When did I get here?

All she had packed was accounted for, including her wallet and its contents. She grabbed her phone. The battery had run down. Weird. She tried to charge it and felt a fresh wave of nausea. She sat down and tried to collect herself. Once the spinning slowed to a gentle rocking, she tried again. With some strained effort, she charged her phone and turned it on.

Sunday 1:30 P.M.

What? How did she lose that much time? She should have stayed in the hospital.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/77443926/chapters/202788171

[pinkpenguin29]

[pinkpenguin29]

From Do Technopaths dream of Electric Sheep? Chapter 13

In New Mexico, Beast scribbles out attempt number sixty-five.

My raven-haired beauty, my Roxanne

“You gonna compare her to a hooker?” asks Bobby, hanging over Hank’s shoulder.

“No! She’s Roxanne to my Cyrano!” Beast responds, and Bobby just gives him a blank look, not understanding.

Warren chimes in, “Raven-haired beauty is a bit derivative anyway. I know I’ve used that line at least once myself. That and she might not pick up on obscure references, Hank.”

“It's not obscure!” he growls, but he still crumples up attempt sixty-five and starts working on Sixty-Six.

“Dude, a while ago you were caught on the arm of Natalie Portman.” Warren looks at his friend incredulously, “The media kept showing the clip of Thor being jealous. Where’s all this nervous energy coming from?”

“Yeah, when you were on the Avengers, you’ve been chasing off more tail than I’ve had in my entire life,” adds Bobby, and when he does, Hank and Warren exchange a look.

Beast puts his pen down and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I told Thor, various paparazzi, now I’ll tell you two, nothing happened between me and Natalie me. As for the other ladies, those were mostly Avengers groupies. Not much interest in my mind, nor much going on in theirs.”

“So you didn’t sleep with any of them?” Asked Bobby.

“I didn’t say that!” He blushes and smirks before getting serious again.

Hank lets out a long sigh, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Look, I have nothing to be ashamed of in my past. But this is different.” He had distanced himself, believing he was protecting her, and now that mistake gnawed at him.

“I was so sure of myself,” he murmured more to himself than to his friends. "I had all the data, all the scientific evidence to prove what I felt was real, and what she felt was… manufactured". But a stubborn, lonely part of his soul clung to the fragile hope that perhaps some of what she’d felt had been real. He hadn't just pushed her away; he had invalidated her feelings, too.

“Hank, man, you're overthinking this,” Warren said, his voice softer now. “I know they say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but if you stay away too long, she’ll move on. If you guys have a real connection, just ask her out.”

“I know,” Beast said. “But that is also so very terrifying.” He picked up the crumpled attempt sixty-five and smoothed it out. "I love her, gentlemen. And the last time I told a woman that, it wasn't a good outcome. I don't want to mess this up."

“Got any pictures of your Cyrano?” asks Bobby.

"My Roxanne." Hank corrects with a heavy sigh, grabbing his phone. He pulls up a picture of him and Alice from their trip to Los Angeles. Her wild, wavy black hair, usually tied back, hung at her shoulders. Normally, she dressed conservatively, covering up with a hoodie, a sweatshirt, or a baggy T-shirt. Still, the Los Angeles heat that summer didn’t allow for that, so she was in a tank top and shorts, showing off curves she usually kept hidden. Her smile, as she had an arm around Hank’s waist, was genuine and brilliant. "She's cute, Hank," Bobby said softly. "And she's looking at you like that! Ask her out!"

"Go talk to her, man!" Warren urged. "You can’t just assume the whole thing was a bad cocktail of hormones and psychotropic drugs. What about her? Did you ask her what she felt? What does she feel now?"

Hank's brow furrowed. "I… I thought it was best to give her space. To not confuse the issue. The evidence was irrefutable. The drug was designed to create emotional vulnerability and suggestibility. To deny that would be unscientific."

"Oh, for crying out loud, Hank, this isn't a lab experiment!" Warren exclaimed, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "It's a woman! A woman who, from the looks of that picture, is a whole lot more than just data points and chemical reactions."

"He's right, Hank," Bobby chimed in, more seriously now. "You're a genius, we all know that. But sometimes the smartest thing you can do is listen to your heart instead of your head. And it's pretty obvious your heart is screaming for you to go see her."

Hank looked at the photo again, at Alice's smile. Was it manufactured? Could a drug have created that depth of feeling? The scientific part of his mind presented the evidence, the logical conclusion. But the memory of her touch, the quiet comfort of her presence, the way she had looked at him with such earnest, unblinking trust—that was a variable his data couldn't account for.

"You're right. I'm overthinking this. I've been a coward." He pushed himself up from the table; his movements were quick and decisive. "I need to call her. Now."

He grabbed his phone and dialed her number.

Read more here

https://archiveofourown.org/works/77443926/chapters/202788171

[marvel-oc-hub]

OC Prompt!!

If your OC finds themself overwhelmed, be it from sadness or anger or something else, what is their preferred way of calming down? Does it involve a particular person, or a particular activity, or both?

(You can answer these prompts either in the tags, in the main body of the post, or even write a fanfic based on the prompt if you wish!)

[pinkpenguin29]

She looked around her dorm room. Two empty beds, two empty desks. She was the first one there with her little box of things. She picked the bed on the right and laid out her things.

She counted each of her things as she unpacked

One, two, three, four, textbooks. Xavier had insisted that she only take four. He had been very firm on that.

She counted each piece of clothing. Ten Tops, six bottoms, eight socks, four bras, twenty underpants, one jacket, two shoes. She counted her toiletries, her school supplies. It was when she started pouring out the labeled 24 Ticonderoga pencils onto the floor and counted out 24 of them that Xavier decided it was time to intervene.

Xavier had been quietly in the doorway for the last several minutes, watching with the patient stillness that only he could maintain for so long. He hadn’t said a word when she lined up the textbooks in perfect alignment on the shelf, nor when she refolded each shirt into crisp, identical rectangles. But the pencils.

“Alice.”

She froze, realizing what she was doing and how long she might have been doing it. “All pencils accounted for,” she said sheepishly.

“I don’t suppose that you are feeling a tad anxious?”

Read more here

https://archiveofourown.org/works/82217616

[pinkpenguin29]

From

Do Technopaths Dream of Electric Sheep?

Chapter 11: The Warlock Who Fell to Earth

Chapter Text

January.

"Well, Alice," Mr. Hayes began, gesturing to the chair opposite his desk. "Thank you for coming in. I have to say, your resume is incredibly impressive. Graduating so young, with such a strong background. It's quite a feat. And your experience at Pixal Plus. That's a fascinating leap from electrical engineering."

Alice didn't sit immediately. She walked to the chair, ran a hand over the fabric, and sat. Then she stared directly at Mr. Hayes's forehead.

"I needed a job," she stated. "Pixal Plus was hiring. My degree is in the science of engineering, but I’m also very capable of writing code, which is the foundation upon which computers are built. So it wasn't a leap. It was a logical application of my knowledge."

Mr. Hayes's smile tightened just a fraction. He shifted in his seat. "Right. We are seeking a skilled individual to repair and maintain advanced laboratory equipment. High-frequency generators, particle accelerators, things of that nature. You have the theoretical knowledge, but we need someone with practical, hands-on experience."

Alice's gaze shifted from his forehead to a small scuff mark on his desk. She tilted her head. "Lab equipment is just specialized circuits. If I can program a complex game engine to render a dynamic 3D world with real-time physics and adaptive AI, I can certainly trace a short in a superconducting magnet. The principles are just simplified, static versions of what I deal with daily."

"That's... a very confident assertion,"

“I’m just stating facts,” Alice replied.

Let's talk about why you're here, and not at Stark Industries or Oscorp. They'd pay a fortune for someone with your profile."

Alice wanted to know that as well; they both had interviewed her and rejected her.

"I believe their decision-making process was flawed. Their hiring algorithms likely prioritize 'team fit' over demonstrated technical competence, which is an inefficient model for innovation-driven companies.”

“Right,” said Mr. Hayes, not entirely comprehending, making a note on his paper.

“I’m probably more qualified than anyone you have on staff. Including you.”

Mr. Hayes slowly put down his pen, his smile completely gone. He picked up his water glass, took a small sip, and set it back on the desk with a precise, final thud.

"Ms. Adams," he said, his voice now entirely flat, "I appreciate your… candor. And I'll be honest, you've convinced me of one thing."

Alice's gaze finally lifted from his scuff-marked desk to meet his eyes. "And what is that?"

"That perhaps our hiring ‘algorithms’ are flawed," he replied. "Because no algorithm could have predicted this interview. It's clear to me that, while you possess the smarts, you lack a fundamental understanding of how people—and, by extension, a team—function. We aren’t looking for a broken cog in our well-oiled machine; We are looking for someone who could collaborate, not just innovate." Mr. Hayes stood, a hand reaching across the desk. "I'm sure you'll find a place that appreciates your unique talents, Alice. But that place is not here."

She lived in the heart of innovation, surrounded by companies building the future, yet none seemed to want her. Her directness was misread as arrogance. They wanted someone who smiled more, who played the game of small talk and flattery.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/77443926/chapters/202788171

[pinkpenguin29]

Do Technopaths Dream of Electric Sheep? From Chapter 10: The Professor’s New Clothes

The first thing Xavier felt upon opening his eyes was disorientation as he saw a dim light overhead. Disorientation was followed by a series of dull aches all over his body.

He blinked, trying to clear the fog from his mind, and then froze. Leaning over him was Callisto, the formidable leader of the Morlocks.

"H’lo Charles." Callisto’s voice was a low purr. "I’d rest Easy if I were you. All things considered, you’ve had a pretty rough night."

Xavier pushed himself up, wincing at the throbbing in his head where the brick had hit him. "Why am I here?" he demanded, his voice raspy. He looked down at himself, and his eyes widened in disbelief. “Where are my clothes? Good grief, Woman! What have you done to me?"

—

A short time later, in an apartment in Hell’s Kitchen, before her phone even rang, Alice Adams was aware that her phone was receiving a call.

She groaned, looking at the clock. She already struggled to get enough sleep at night, and now someone was calling in the middle of the night? After letting it ring a few times, her sleepy, slightly annoyed voice answered. "Hello?"

"Alice," the voice was rough, familiar, and utterly devoid of apology. It was Callisto. "I have a gift for you."

"A… a gift?" Alice’s confusion is evident even through the static. "Callisto, it's the middle of the night. Are you trying to torture me for fun?"

"Come down to the usual spot," Callisto instructed, ignoring Alice’s protest. "You won't want to miss this."

She knew better than to argue. Alice pulled on the nearest leggings and grabbed her keys. She slipped out of the apartment and made her way toward the forgotten access panel in the alley that would lead her to the Morlock tunnels. She found Callisto waiting, and then she saw him. Charles Xavier. Her jaw dropped.

"P-Professor?" Alice stammered, her eyes wide with shock at seeing how he was dressed. Her mind, usually so quick to categorize and analyze, stuttered, a ‘GUI crash’ of epic proportions—like a computer screen freezing up when it can’t process what’s happening.

Leather straps crisscrossed his chest, buckles glinted in the dim light, and what looked like a rather aggressively spiked kilt hung from his waist. It was less ‘distinguished academic’ and more ‘post-apocalyptic warrior.’

Alice’s internal metrics went haywire.

Observation: Professor Xavier is wearing… that.

Problem: My brain cannot process this data.

By the look on his face, Xavier clearly hadn’t anticipated this reunion. He cleared his throat, a faint flush rising on his pale cheeks.

“Alice,” he managed, his voice a little strained.

“Professor,” she repeated, her voice a whisper of disbelief and second-hand embarrassment, her gaze still fixed on the leather and buckles. “Are you… Are you alright? What… what happened to your clothes?”

Callisto let out a chuckle. “A distinct improvement, wouldn’t you say, Alice? Far less… stuffy.”

Xavier shot Callisto a withering look. He then turned back to Alice, attempting to project an air of dignity despite his outlandish outfit. “Alice, my dear, it’s a long story. One that involves a rather unfortunate encounter and… a certain amount of unconventional hospitality.” He gestured vaguely at his new ensemble. “Suffice it to say, my usual wardrobe was… unavailable.”

Alice’s gaze finally shifted from his outfit to his face, and she saw the faint lines of pain, the weariness in his eyes that even his forced composure couldn’t hide. She goes to his side and helps him up.

“You’re hurt,” she stated, the shock of his appearance momentarily forgotten.

“Callisto, what happened?” The Professor was vulnerable. And that, in its way, was more unsettling than any strange outfit.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/77443926/chapters/202788171

[pinkpenguin29]

[stealingpotatoes]

kinda obsessed with drawing wanda atm

(commission info // tip jar!)