#xmen movies oc

[luxurious-lucius]

// hello hello this is the person behind Lucius "Lux". I have a big master post about him on my main but I'll probably bring that stuff over to this acc too :3

// anyway, this is the post with all the rules I have set n stuff for this RP acc

I will not tolerate any harassment about shipping. I for one love ships but will not force it upon anyone. This is not a shipping account, BUT I might make hints here or there. But nothing too serious (unless another acc is interested). Note that I do ship my OC with Remy Lebeau for fun it's not meant to be serious at all. Just a tee hee thing. (There is quite literally a massive multivese for every single character of ever single outcome. I know that Remy likes Rogue, I am so well aware but let me have fun)

This account is honestly used for a mix of different versions of the X-Men (mostly 97 and 2000s movies + maybe some D&W cause I love Channing Tatum's Gambit‼️)

I want you to be aware that I am a real human with real feelings and a personal life. I will not be on all the time. This is supposed to be a fun side thing. If it's not fun, I won't continue. I just want to share and yap about my OC. And please share and yap about your OCs in return!!

Please be respectful to me and any other's who are doing things like this! If you have nothing nice to say, don't say it. Treat others the way you want to be treated. Common sense, golden rule. Obvs there's exceptions to this rule but still.

Please try not to bring up drama or cause drama! It makes things not fun and honestly this is just meant to be stupid and fun. Lux is a genuine OC that I love, he's just a major idiot that makes absolutely 0 sense.

This post will be updated when needed!

anywizzle here's what Lux looks like ❤

I'm really bad at drawing people but this is Lux, my precious gremlin :3

[nymphoniah]

can I request old man Logan where he’s looking for his glasses and he finds the reader sitting in his seat wearing them & teasing him how can he see without them. Then something primal inside him overcomes him to put her in her place

I hope that’s not too silly of a request I just drool over old man Logan especially with his glasses

you know i’m no good | logan howlett

i love this old man… i need him like air!!! ackkkk </3. tysm for sending this request in, we all need a grumpy logan in our lives :3 also i just read the old man logan comics and lord!!! i absolutely need to write more of himmmm

pairing: old man!logan x younger!reader

content/tags: NSFW minors dni, 18+ only, implied age gap (reader is in their 20’s), soft dom!logan, afab!reader, boot riding, smut, daddy kink, swearing, pet names (princess, doll, etc), a little bit of dacryphilia, logan refers to himself as an old man, porn w a lil bit of plot if you squint, crybaby!reader

you absolutely love the way logan’s glasses hang off of his nose bridge—always making sure when you’re peppering his face in kisses, you kiss the little bump that accentuates his features.

logan was a little embarrassed at first, wearing his glasses around you. thought it made him look older, already felt senile just taking them out of the case.

“c’mon!” you tease, placing a kiss on the tip of his nose. “i like the way you look in them,” you push him further, toying with the frames of his glasses.

“i look older in ‘em,” he says, playing off your kind words, “never was a fan of wearing them in the first place,” logan continues to drone on.

“charles says otherwise,” you snap back, your fingers playing where his glasses sit on his ears, flipping the glasses slightly up and down off his nose bridge.

logan chuckles, allowing you to continue playing with his glasses. “fine, i’ll wear ‘em,” he obliges much quicker than you thought he would—god knows the man loves to put on a fight.

but for you? he’d fold instantly. that’s what you do to him, you’re his little soft spot.

“only ‘cause you like it, princess.”

so when time passes, and you start to see him wear his glasses less and less, you decide to mess around with him a bit—give him a little surprise!

now here you are, sat in his armchair with a small smirk forming at the corner of your lips. your legs crossed, eyes peering up at him, but this time—his glasses perched on your nose.

logan approaches you slowly, his footsteps heavy, his figure towering over yours. he’s just come home from work, dressed up in his black and white suit, his tie slightly undone. he looks especially tired, like he’s had a long day.

“you broke your promise,” you trail off quietly, losing your smugness as logan looks down at you, his eyes sullen. “forgot these at home,” you continue, pointing at the glasses.

you try to ease the tension in the air by cracking a joke. “bet you couldn’t even drive straight without these.”

your words draw no reaction from logan. it’s painfully obvious that he’s drained from the day, and has no patience for whatever you have planned.

“i don’t have time for this,” he shrugs you off, pulling at your arm to get you up on your feet, “get ‘outta my spot, need to have some fuckin’ peace for once”.

you hate when logan gets like this, refusing to let you know what’s occupying his thoughts, keeping you in the dark—pushing you away.

so being the stubborn girl you are, you stay limp, refusing to move from the armchair. “no.” you retort, voice low and quiet.

logan can obviously lift you out of the chair with no issues, no tugging on your wrists or anything of the sort. but he sees that you’re at least trying to ease him up, make him feel the tiniest bit better. so he bites.

“can’t hear ‘ya, princess” logan says, the timbre of his voice gravelly, his eyebrow now raised, watching for your next move.

“no.” you respond sternly, shifting your weight further into the leather, tugging your arm away from his grasp.

something inside logan snaps. maybe it’s just ‘cause he had a bad day at work, or perhaps he just got riled up, seeing you get all bratty with him. knowing him, it was probably a combination of the two.

“no?” he mocks, sounding bitter as he lets out a tsk. “wrong fuckin’ answer, sweetheart.”

and that’s when the mood changes. the tension is still there, but there’s a shift. you feel your stomach turn, in a weird, twisted way—aroused by the way logan looks down at you with displeasure.

“need me to put you in your place, huh?” logan spits out, grabbing you by the wrist, finally pulling you out of the armchair.

taking little effort, he makes you stumble to your knees, your palms hitting the ground of the hardwood floor. you’re kneeled in front of logan, feeling foolish, stupid for trying to pester him after a long day.

“m’sorry,” you mutter, eyes glued to the floor, his glasses sliding low on your nose.

logan perches down to your height, bending down so that he’s level to your ears. “it’s a bit too late for apologies now, doll,” he coos, cupping your face with one of his hands.

he squishes your cheeks together, making it so that you’re looking up at him now. his eyes are sullen, facial features stern, the bags under his eyes a bit darker than usual.

streams of sorry, sorry, sorry is all you can manage let out of your pretty little mouth. you feel so guilty, upsetting him. sure, you had no ill intentions, but you know you pushed him—you should’ve just gotten out of the stupid chair, could’ve avoided this stupid mess.

the thoughts continue to drill into your brain, the regret. your eyes start to get teary, you just can’t help it. after everything that logan’s done, all the shit he’s been through, you didn’t wanna add onto his problems, cause any unnecessary stress in his life.

“don’t cry, princess” he consoles you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. logan steadies himself back up, seating himself into the leather armchair where you once sat.

you shift around, slotting yourself between his legs, your pink, teary eyes looking up at him. “m’sorry still, didn’t wanna make you mad,” you sniffled out, taking off his glasses, placing them on the coffee table.

you leaned your head against his leg, your cheek nuzzling into the fabric of his slacks, your tears staining the pants a darker shade of black.

logan looked down at you, his tired eyes admiring the way you sat below him, practically worshiping him. “you’re just needy for your old man, hm?” he says, patting your head gently as you continue to weep.

“can’t help it, lo,” you murmur, tears becoming less frequent as he continues to tangle his fingers in your hair. “you’ve been gone a lot.”

your eyes fall down to his black leather dress shoes, the stitching of the shoes frayed, the material slightly worn at the edges. your fingertips play with the toe of his boots, trying to ground yourself.

“i know, i know, doll,” he replies, wiping away a stray tear from your cheek, his eyes catching the way you were staring intently at his shoes. “show me how much you missed me.”

your mind is still racing, trying to find a way to ease the pain you felt on your heart, the residing guilt you felt from earlier.

that’s ‘till you let your body think for itself, mindlessly hovering your clothed cunt on top of his boot. your breath stutters, trying to make sense of your actions, but it’s the last thing you wanna do.

all you want to do is turn your brain off—make sure that the pain goes away, that all your troubles could be temporarily solved.

“need this, need you,” you whine, placing yourself firmly on his boot, slowly grinding against him, pressing the temple of your head onto logan’s knee.

logan feels himself hardening at the sight of you getting off on him, his cock twitching as you paw at his slacks, your roaming hands finding their way to his crotch.

“fuck…” he hisses out, tilting his heels slightly upwards, making it so that the toe of his shoes angles right against your cunt. “my filthy girl just needed her old man to comfort her, yeah?”

you moan out in pleasure, your eyes shutting tight as you pace yourself, rutting against the rugged leather rhythmically. your cunt was leaking with your arousal, the excess slowly dripping down the sides of his shoes.

“missed you… so bad… d-daddy,” you cried out in between pants, your breath quivering, feeling the pressure in your core building up. “don’t know what i’d do… without ’ya…”

“you don’t need to worry about that, princess,” logan coos, “daddy’s right here,” he punctuates by nestling the toe of his shoe deeper inside your messy cunt.

“shut your pretty little brain off and keep riding me like that.”

[pickledpascal]

Thee Wolverine

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Maya Imik

Warnings: animal tendencies, cat behavior, some sexual themes if you squint, fluff otherwise!

A/N: just felt like there was too much feral!logan where he's a fucking machine. what if he just wants to be close to his mate, c'mon now.

Word Count: 1.8k

Hugh Jackman Masterlist

Logan did not go feral. Well, if someone asked, he would say he didn’t.

But there were days, weeks, months when he didn’t act like himself. Where scent, touch, and just about everything seemed to drive him crazy. He’d isolate himself in his room, exiting it with a few more claw marks lodged into the walls or he’d simply leave the mansion. Live in the woods for an indiscriminate amount of time until he felt normal enough to return.

With Maya, that changed.

Similar to their usual routine when they were about to sleep, Maya read a book beside Logan as he got in bed next to her. The whole day, he had felt urges. He knew he was slipping little by little. Around Maya, the fight in him crumbled. His pupils turned to slits as he felt that part of his brain take over.

He pulled her close, causing her to let out a light squeak at how roughly her pulled her. He buried his head into her neck and rubbed his cheek against the exposed skin of her neck and shoulder. His pupils rounded and dilated before he closed his eyes.

Maya looked at Logan curiously, an amused smile on her face. The book was long forgotten as he kept rubbing his face against her until he tucked his head underneath her chin. She carded a hand through his hair and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

Logan wasn’t a stranger to cuddling. Even less so as the person who wanted the affection, desperate for it at times, too. However, this was a whole new level Maya hadn’t experienced yet. Though, she didn’t mind.

A low purr escaped Logan’s chest as Maya kept her fingers in his hair. Surprise was an understatement. She was downright ecstatic at the discovery. Logan was a goddamn cat. Well, more like a tiger. Large and dangerous with deadly claws and an even deadlier bite but downright cuddly and soft when they wanted to be.

They went to sleep like that. Maya’s arms were around Logan’s shoulders while his arms were wrapped around her waist, holding her tightly to him. Their legs tangled together so he could lock their bodies like puzzle pieces. Maya had never felt so warm in her life. It was like being covered in the world's best heated and weighted blanket.

Waking up was another ordeal.

“Logan, let me go.” Maya huffed as she tried to get away from him but he kept a firm hold around her body.

“No.” He hummed, rubbing his face into her hair with a large, easy smile on his face. It would have been more endearing if she hadn’t had an important briefing with Scott in the morning.

Eventually, he did let her go but he full-on whined at the loss of contact. He even growled lowly when she got dressed properly, eyes turning to slits. Maya didn't notice. He hated that she was covering her skin. Hated that he didn't have as much access as he did earlier.

He stood up and pressed his chest to her back and wrapped his arms around her waist, letting his chin rest on her shoulder as a chuff rumbled in his body.

Maya pecked his cheek. “Don't worry, you'll be okay without me for a little while.” Logan frowned. His pupils seemed to get impossibly rounder.

Maya wondered what that was about. In fact, he hadn't said more than a word to her since yesterday, when they had lunch. She brushed it off as just him having a bad day, he'd talk to her later about it, as he always did.

She left the room and went to the briefing with Scott. It went smoothly. They were brainstorming ways to get better protections for mutants from experimentation in a lawful route with Jean and Ororo. Maya didn't think she was of much help but the others reassured her that she was.

During lunch hours, she sat where she usually did with some of the older students. Yukio, Ellie, and Kitty had become friends she liked even if they were nearly ten years younger than her. After a while, she noticed Logan was not in the dining hall like everyone else. Maya pursed her lips.

“Have any of you seen Logan today?” She asked. They all knew of their relationship, at this point, so she felt no reason to hide her worry or favor for the older mutant.

Kitty chuckled. “You didn't hear? He canceled all of his classes.”

“What?” Maya blinked. To be fair, Logan didn't seem like he wanted to converse with anyone, much less a bunch of children. “Why?”

Ellie stared at Maya flatly. As always. “He didn't tell you?” She raised an eyebrow. Then let out a soft “hm.”

Maya pushed a hand through her hair and screwed her eyes shut for a moment, slightly exasperated. There was a lot she didn't know about Logan, he was nearly two hundred fucking years old, of course, she wouldn't be able to know every goddamn thing he went through.

“What is it?” She pressed.

Yukio answered this time, in her usual cheerful tone though it was quieter now as if she was telling a secret. “Sometimes the animal part of Mr. Howlett takes over! He becomes more,” She thought about it for a moment, “Feral. Gives into his animal instincts. He always cancels classes when that happens.”

Maya could not believe what Yukio was telling her. She laughed. She knew it was true. But feral? Describing the cuddle bear that was Logan that morning as feral was silly.

She could still see him in the back of her mind, pupils so dilated they seemed to take over his entire hazel iris. His hair was so fluffy from lying around in bed that it seemed to accentuate the two tufts on either side of his head.

When Maya did come back to his room—their room—she was bombarded by Logan. He pulled her down to the bed with him and nearly shredded off her shirt to expose her skin. He nuzzled his face against her stomach which made her chuckle. He was so goddamn cuddly. She wondered what the students thought he did while he was like this. What urges did they think he had? To kill? Destroy shit? Dare she say fuck?

Logan chuffed again, his entire body rumbled with the noise as he rubbed his cheeks against her. His facial hair made it feel scratchy but Maya didn't mind it much. He was enjoying himself, why would she stop that?

“How've you been?” She asked in a murmur, trying to make some conversation.

“Missed you.” He hummed. His nose traced the soft outline of Maya's abdominal muscles.

Her heart warmed. She glanced around the room. All of the drawers designated to her were slightly ajar. She looked back down at Logan, an amused smirk on her face. He was wearing one of her shirts. A simple black T-shirt with a vintage design on the front.

“Yeah?” Maya tugged a little at the shirt. She raised an eyebrow at him.

Logan pouted softly as he raised his head to look at her. “Smells like you.”

Maya let out a breath, her eyes softening and full of affection as she tugged Logan up her body. “C'mere, sweetheart.” He happily obliged. “I don't mind you taking my clothes if it helps you, okay?” She nodded at him.

He kissed Maya's cheek in response, purring lowly. He wrapped his arms around her again and rubbed his cheek against hers. She laughed. It was his favorite sound in the world. He wanted to hear it all the time. His heart twinged with affection each time he heard even the faintest of chuckles escape her lips.

“Mate makes me happy.” Logan murmured. He rubbed his face against her hair again to feel the softness of it.

He loved her presence, the feeling of her skin against his. More importantly, for his feral mind, he loved having her scent all over him and he loved rubbing his scent all over her. No one else would know besides him and that's what made it so much sweeter.

Maya let Logan mess up her hair, a light smile on her lips. She had never thought of herself as his ‘mate,’ but she was. They were made for each other, it appeared. They fit together like a lock and a key or a pen to paper. They were so similar yet so different. And they embraced those differences without fail. Each flaw seemed to only make them love the other more. Now that they found each other, they were never going to let go. Never could let go.

She pressed a kiss to his cheek, earning her another chuff. “You make me happy too, mate.” Maya wrapped an arm around Logan's shoulder. She thought she might as well appeal to his current mental state.

Logan purred happily. He grew even happier when Maya rubbed her cheek against his. His lips parted. A smile that showed his teeth formed on his face.

Maya wanted to take a picture. But she didn't feel like ruining the moment. It was a rare sight to see Logan smile with teeth. She wasn't sure if it was because he intentionally tried not to show his sharp canines in fear of being seen as scary or what but… it was so beautiful when he smiled like that.

She brushed a hand into his hair. Logan let out a contented purr. She scratched at a specific spot in his hair that she knew made him go weak—she wanted to know if something else would happen now that he was giving in to his animal urges.

Almost immediately, his whole body relaxed and went limp. He closed his eyes and purred louder. His entire body rumbled with the noise. Maya was sure that if Logan had a tail then it would be wagging.

“You’re cute.” She smiled, scratching at the hairs on the nape of his neck.

Logan let out a low gruff noise in protest. He didn’t complain otherwise. How could he? Maya had him weak in the knees.

If he was standing, he would have probably collapsed onto the floor with how she was touching him. He liked it like that. The comfort he could feel from a simple touch Maya gave him was more than what he could put into words. He breathed in her scent, letting his body mold into hers.

“Love you, so much.” He hummed against her skin. It was muffled to the point Maya wasn’t sure what he said for a few seconds.

She rubbed her cheek against the side of his head. “Love you too.”

[secretsideofbree]

*My family talking about random stuff*

Me who got into a loophole of the x men timelines again

[donutdrawsthings]

I've been so obsessed with X-men, I've decided to make my own fan character. Meet Mateo! He's a trans masc mutant with the ability to replicate a person's personality and memories. Backstory under the cut!

Mateo is a mutant with the ability to perfectly mimic a person's personality and memory, living or deceased. When his parents first discovered this ability, he mimicked the personality of his late grandma. His mother never asked her how she always made a certain pie and regretted it for years. Then one day she found her child acting strange, and baking that exact pie she so fondly remembered. What could have been a wholesome moment however, quickly turned into something to exploit. Just a year later Mateo found himself mimicking personalities of the deceased left and right, under the guise that they'd be speaking to the actual ghost of said person. All a paid service, of course. One of which Mateo saw not a cent of. Mateo would often get stuck in a personality, and the more people he had to mimic, the longer he'd stay stuck. He couldn't maintain any friendships and a regular life was not on the table in the slightest. So one day, when he was feeling a slither of himself again, he ran.

That's how he found the school for the gifted :o] He realised that without a personality to mimic, he wasn't really sure who he was in the first place. What his likes are and if he even has a favourite colour. So in this school, surrounded by fellow mutants, he started to find himself and explore his identity (gender and otherwise!).

[moonleey]

I had to add morph, and some oc-

[torncolourfultights]

X-Men Origins: Wolverine

[samagoblin]

(oc, Florence x cannon, Kurt Wagner) My Kurt Wagner design definitely purrs!

update: it’s definitely been a while since I last posted on here, everything is kinda well. Been getting a lot into X-men lately due to 97! Sorry I’ve been inactive on here, I’ve mainly been posting on my instagram and TikTok as of late! So if ya want more content, I suggest checking it out :)

[themareverine]

Until We Fall | somewhere in the past, North Dakota (in other words, the prologue) | worst!Logan Howlett

summary: He'd given her everything, would give her anything.

warnings: AU events of Logan 2017, MC death, trauma.

a/n: no explanation, just pain.

series masterlist | nav | previous | next

"Laura—Laura, no!"

They say that life altering moments most often happen in slow motion, in slow heartbeats and throbbing blood. And recollection of those seismic moments for the rest of eternity—they come in slow, mirror images of what's already buried in time. Forgetting how to breathe is almost a stipulation. Paralysis, a qualification. Anatomy all but ceases to function as reality kicks down the door of absolution, racing in like a battering ram. Splintering the few seconds of time before the cataclysm.

She couldn't have reached Laura in time, even if she'd seen it coming. Survival laced with the intoxicating cocktail of adrenaline had already etched this moment into stone, set things in motion that couldn't be undone from twenty five feet to her left—couldn't be resolved with her fingers buried knuckle deep in some yahoo's gut structure. By the time she saw the telltale, unmistakable swing of the pistol's arch coming around the little girl's body, she knew.

Laura, in her short life, had probably never even held a pistol, accustomed instead to sheathed adamantium blades and rage. Even from here she could see her aim was high. Shaky, unpracticed. Terrified and enraged, like an inferno dancing around a whirlwind. A ticking time bomb waiting to seal fate—to change the world among the North Dakota evergreens and crisp, deep woods air.

Low on her legs, the pistol shook ravenously in the girl's hands. Even from across the forest leaves and rocks and dirt, she could see the girl's brow pull into a wrinkled line. Bloodstained and adrenaline galloping through her small frame, she may as well have been set on fire—even her finger kissed the trigger in slow motion. Frame by frame, she couldn't have pulled her fist from her attacker's abdomen fast enough.

Even if Laura had heard her, there was no undoing. The shot cracked the air with a resolution that could rattle worlds. Even the air didn't move, the trees seemed to stand all-soldier. Like sentinels, they canopied the scene, looking down as the creature christened X-24 hit paydirt, unforgivingly hard. Ragdoll and slack. Blood rivered from his head like an emptied canoe. Staining the earth, timestamping these seconds in history.

She watched Logan jar backward on impact, considering his goliath form for only seconds before reality struck her upside her own head. His enraged roar, the sudden all-stop of steps permanently halted by the jarring collision of a bullet. Staggering, he didn't even have time to glance her way—reality hit her like sunlight cresting the new morning. Her heart stopped beating, bones unable to support her as she staggered forward, tripping over air and a shriek that may as well have ripped open her meatshirt.

Logan's frame hit the earth almost automatically. Without so much as a full breath arching his chest. Clawing through the dirt, harsh forest floor piked up her nailbeds. Ripped at her blood-stained skin. Blood from the man she had dismembered still warm and tacky between her fingers mingled with dirt and pine needles, felt like sin staining her soul. Sin and survival, who could tell the difference when her heart was clawing out of her chest?

Somewhere behind her, she heard the pistol hit the earth with a polite thud—-heard Laura's weight buckle in shock.

"Logan!"

Barely breathing, she hauled herself to her feet and would've flown had God designed it that way. In two shallow, burning heaves of air she skidded to a stop beside him, his limp form splayed onto the earth in a gruesome display. Hands skimming over his wounds, over the scarlet pools of blood around his chest—she didn't know where his blood started and stopped, where it had been contaminated with that of their enemies. It didn't matter.

Eyes moving to his face, her breath hitched heavily in her chest like the snap of a pistol's slide. Gnawing at her ribs like a rabid wolf, her gut rose to the back of her throat and she heaved—turning from him, she leaned away and vomited across the forest floor. Wicked ice rose up beneath her skin, violently rattling her limbs. Uncontrollably feverish, her teeth began to chatter, the sour sting of vomit lingering on her back teeth as she choked on the sob rewriting her soul.

"Logan!" Guttural, her shriek was animalistic. White hot rage. Pain, loss, disbelief consumed her like a rip current, carrying her out and back again. Pulling her under, drowning her in reality.

This can't be happening, no nono—Jesus, please…..not now, not Logan, please anyone else—isn't….this isn't fair���.

Every stage of grief hit at once.

A long black train, pistoning her soul to hell and back. Whiplashing between reality and nightmare. For a moment she wondered if she had died, unable to note the difference between the living and dead—what was tangible and ill. She choked on air. Fought the ache in her lungs for it. Drowned in her own sticky saliva and vomit that wouldn't stop coming. Charred by the hot acid splashing the back of her throat again and again. Turned inside out, she counted every organ in her body all at once, function and purpose—their miserable failure, only to painfully jumpstart her back to life.

She screamed. Again and again and again and again until they cracked like broken hourglasses, spilling the sands of time loved, now lost. Her bones trembled with fury, white-hot lava that boiled over in a wellspring unidentified in her low parts. Animalistic pain gripped her like a master puppeteer, flinging her spine forward into a low, all-fours posture not far removed from that of an animal—ripping dirt from the earth, she flung handfuls of it in every direction. The toes of her boots ground into the dirt, leaving small ravines as she about-faced, vicious like a predator. Forecasting the forest floor, the next heartbeats.

Nothing but innocent eyes, aghast and horrified, stared back at her. Most dead, many still living. Still hoping.

But it was over. Cuts like a white-hot katana to the gut. "Get away from us, all of you!" Rage. Angry, otherworldy, mountainous rage. "Logan," she turned back to him, eyes surveying his splayed form, "enough of this!" Of course nothing but postmortem weight hung in the air, life seeping into the forest floor with every ounce of blood dripping from his veins.

Whatever strength the outburst had called for evaporated, the air out of her sails and asystole in her chest. Sinking to her knees, she clawed at her own skin, numb to anything but the earthquake of loss shaking her frame. Able to feel him slipping away, she could've watched his soul slip away if God had allowed it. Farther and farther, nothing else— the familiar sting of splitting skin between her knuckles, intimate agony of bone finding the air from beneath her living flesh. It was nothing, borderline unreal.

She may well have been all paralyzed, white noise.

Screaming, sobbing, shaking violently. Fighting the urge to keep vomiting out the very contents of her guts and failing, only to fight again. She shrieked until her throat closed, until words came in painful, unintelligent garbles only identified as sticky saliva, spit-stained utterances. Violent cold gnawed at her flesh, reminding her that it was spring in whatever God forsaken wood this was, and that she'd lost her coat somewhere in the fray—it kept her grounded, for all of a few heartbeats.

Slowly she came back to reality, to the borders beyond the immediate whiplash. Sentinel, all-shielding forest. Still, quiet air crisp and clean, reminding her she was alive with every pull into her chest. Youth and innocence pounding with every heartbeat that watched, waiting.

He would be furious at her for letting go, for losing control. People like them couldn't break, one finger on the pulse of the moment—people like them kept it together. In her mind's eye, she could feel him grab her by the back of her neck. Whirl her around, fight for her attention. Nose-to-nose, chest-to-chest, he'd get in her face and tell her to simmer the fuck down and get it together. People like us, we can't lose control, sweetheart—focus. Survive. Not for us, for them.

But what about you, Logan?

Wiping at the tears trying to cut away the guts and blood and gore on her face, she sank low on her knees. Strawman, unable to feel or think past the sting of cold air and pain in her limbs. Swallowing a breath, gagging on her own spit. His void expression, closed and quiet, face upturned. She followed—blue sky, crystalline blue sky and a gorgeous canopy of undying evergreen. Cumulus clouds, rolling by, shadowing them from the heavens. Maybe even God.

He didn't move. Already terrifyingly cold as she rested her hand against his arm. Nails biting into his flesh as she curled her fingers around once-living muscle, now little more than dead weight on the ground. Sputtering on a shallow whimper, she slipped her arms under him. Hauled his head to rest in her lap. He was astronomically heavy, it was painfully obvious. Eyes still far away and closed, her fingers carefully carded through his hair, still damp with sweat.

"Logan," her voice cracked, this time almost to a decibel she couldn't believe, "my Wolverine—please," Chin bowing to her chest, her shoulders earthquaking with another sob. Tears dripped from her face into his hair, her fingers combing them through in vain effort to wash him. Mary of Magdala had washed the feet of Christ with tears, redeeming her soul—perhaps this would redeem him, his life. Restore what had been so gutteraly ripped away.

He'd always said to be ready, she'd always tried to be. She wasn't. A thief in the night, this happened all too quickly. Too much left unsaid, untouched, unfelt.

"Don't leave me," fingers gently brushing over the hair on his face, hair that had made her chuckle just hours before as children had taken to him as their own little plaything. The look on his face at his own reflection had been priceless, rousted a giggle from her that tipped a smile on her lips. Now little more than pinpricks of what would be touch to numb hands, "I— how do I live without you, Logan," the truth, larger than life and snapping like the jaws of a frothing animal at her psyche, "Baby, baby please. I love you. I love you, I've always loved you, I love you—come back to me! Come back to the living—" every ounce of religion flooded to the surface like rising water to the delta, every seed of faith. All prayer; every bone. He could do this, she believed it—

"—to go. We have to leave, Miss Mare—he called for more men, we have to leave."

Foreign, the voice was plagued with naiveté. Leave? There was nowhere to go, nothing to live for. Her entire world was bleeding into the earth here on the forest floor. She wouldn't have felt an assault anyway, better to die paralyzed and numb than be ripped apart in a fight to live. Logan had died. Logan had—

"—Mare, Miss Mare. Please," Logan. She could hear him, even now, dead on the ground. His voice rapid fire in her ears, telling her to get up. Fight. Don't look back, push harder, survive. Get the fuck up, princess, and do what needs doing. Gaping like a fish out of water, her mouth opens and closes on words that aren't there. How does she do what needs doing without him? It doesn't feel possible, an anomaly.

A mutated form of living with no benefits, no hope.

My Wolverine," she doesn't realize she's actually said it until it suffocates under a gut wrenching wail. "LOGAN!"

His features, marred and dismantled, blur behind a veil of tears. Probably for the best—she couldn't look at it yet. Couldn't stomach the void in the center of his skull, taking from her everything that had mattered. One bullet. One adamantium bullet and her entire world had eviscerated, gutted of purpose. Everything that mattered. Would matter. The rest of her living days of joy. Gone, slipping between her fingers.

Helpless little hands grab at her arm. "Mrs. Howlett," it's pleading. Innocence, terrified purity. On the bleeding edge of desperation. Like a prayer, seeking redemption and revelation—revelation no longer beating in the chest of the dead, cold and still on the forest floor beneath her hands.

Her gaze casts to X-23, across the floor. Laura. Grief stricken, milkwhite with the phantom of shock etched across her much too young face. Guilt assailed her like a veil, a guilt she'd carry for the rest of her life—answers. X-23 would need answers, answers she didn't know if she'd ever have to give. Logan's last fight, his last purpose had been this young girl, getting her, getting them all to a new life. To Eden. His last valiancy, wrapped up in a little girl that wasn't even theirs.

How do I live without you, Logan?

She lowers to brush her nose against his. Moving slowly, ever so slowly to gently kiss his lips, like he's glass and might break. Because he has, has before. His lips are cold already, waxy. Chapped like they always are. He's dead, but he feels and smells so much like the living. Any second now, kissing him upside down, his fingers would dig into her ribs and make her scream with life, with laughter. He'd tease her and tell her to act her age, not really realizing that to them, age means nothing.

Instead all she tastes is blood and sweat and dirt, cocktailed with her own tears that nearly choke the life out of her lungs. Her fingers curl into the flesh of his face, as if it'll pull him back. Snap him out of this charade of forensic, anatomical ceasefire that's ripped him away. It doesn't. It isn't the answer, doesn't put two and two together and never would. Touching him like this never would.

Logan had been her answer. To prayer, to life, to happiness, to love, absolution. The object of her life's purpose. He'd been the light of her life, a gift of heaven. Loved her viciously, the only one to do so—the only one to lend part of himself to.

Set aside for her, from the very foundations of the earth. Wholly perceived, divinely goliathed. He'd taught her everything—about him, about life, about mutation and life's purposes within the uncertain. Taken her hand and shown her the most reckless, passionate, whole way to live and let life—how to breathe again. How to love. How to feel and be and move. He'd given her everything, would give her anything. Fierce, loyal. Tortured, stitched back together with resolve and determination, hope. Magnificent, undivided, indestructible. Power personified—

—I'm sorry, Logan—

—a Wolverine.

[kitchen-soup]

Drawing some more designs/outfits for my Xmen oc Maeve! Can u tell I’m putting off drawing her moth wings lol

[skinntyy]

Rogue took Jean’s crown as the fainting queen 😭 Here’s part 2 of my X-Men ‘97 series 🧬

[cyruscc]

“To me, my X-men.”

[the-gentle-jellofish]

[pickledpascal]

Be My James Bond?

Pairing: Patch!Logan x Native American OC!Maya Imik

Warnings: sexual tension, violence, claws are OUT, smoking.

A/N: i love you patch logan and your .5 seconds of screen time in d&w. for context, maya is a mutant who can manipulate water/liquids.

Word Count: 1.8k

Hugh Jackman Masterlist

It was another one of those missions, the kind where Maya and Logan had to go undercover in some fancy casino that seemed way too good to be true. Which it was. These kinds of missions were somewhat trivial, at least in Maya’s eyes, but they always impacted mutant lives somehow. So of course she went on them.

Seeing Logan dressed up didn’t hurt either. And she knew Logan didn’t mind seeing her in a dress.

This time, she wore a strapless dress in a deep blue color that pooled onto the floor, a slit that went all the way to her mid-thigh. Her light sepia skin was on display for everyone to see. The scars never threw anyone off, they seemed to draw them in. She found it was a conversation starter which is what she needed on a mission like this. It also helped that she was usually the only Native in any room she walked into and people could tell.

She walked around the casino, keeping an eye on Logan as he played at a poker table. He wore a white blazer with a nicely fitting waistcoat and black bowtie. Classy. In all the right ways. And his eyepatch, which he wore no matter what seemed to tie the whole look together.

She went up to the bar to order a drink and get some information. This part of the casino was exclusive, meant for the high-rollers only.

Her presence had men flocking to the bar so she plastered a smile on her red-painted lips, sipping at a martini as she chatted with the men, pulling out bits and pieces of information from them as she lightly and expertly flirted with them.

Soon, Maya could feel a familiar presence make his way to the bar. She excused herself from the man she was talking with and moved further down the bar.

“Having any luck, River?” Logan asked, a hand around a crystal glass filled with whiskey. The color was similar to her left eye. He had also lit up a cigar which he had currently hanging from his lips.

Maya smirked, their shoulders brushing up against each other. She breathed in the smoke of his cigar as it swirled around them. “The best. How ‘bout you, Patch?”

Logan huffed under his breath, plucking the cigar from his lips between two fingers. “I’m working on that.” Maya was about to say something else when a man she previously talked to went up to her.

He was a little shorter, younger, and handsome man who was certainly way in over his head. “Hey, pretty girl.” He crooned as he stood between her and Logan. He slid a hand up her arm. “You wanna get out of here? This old guy must be bothering you.”

Mistake number one when talking to Maya in front of Logan: Never assume she is yours. She’s not. And Logan will make you not so nicely understand.

A light laugh escaped her lips while Logan seethed as he looked at the man. He was resisting the urge to slam his face into the bar top. It would be a shame to stain it with his blood.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” She tried to let him down gently, as a mercy. She hoped he would be smart and turn the other way. “I’m not the kind of girl who goes back to a hotel room with someone after a few drinks. I’m sure you understand.” She smiled politely.

The man huffed and turned around. “Bitch.” He mumbled under his breath.

Mistake number two: Never insult Maya.

Logan pulled the other man by his hair and slammed his head against the bar top, hard enough for his nose to break and bleed. His other hand extended his claws slowly. “Wanna try that again, bub? That’s my wife you’re talking to.” He ground out, eyes narrowed like he wanted to kill him.

All the activity around them seemed to stop, but no one made any move to try and help the man who was unfortunately at the mercy of an angry Wolverine.

The man tried to shake his head but it was hard to since he was held against the counter. Logan roughly let him go, pushing him away. “Get the fuck outta here.” His claws retracted back into his knuckles.

Maya couldn’t contain the sly smile on her face as she watched the young man fall into a heap on the floor before he got up and scrambled away.

“Was that really needed, Patch?” She asked, tilting her head as the smile on her lips widened.

Logan went back to smoking his cigar, the tension in his shoulders dissipating. “Wasn’t it, River?” His lips quirked up into a lop-sided smirk. “Can’t have someone thinking they can have you, can I?”

Maya was glad they got the information they needed so they didn’t have to stay in the casino any longer. With the way Logan’s eyes roamed over her body and how he broke someone’s face, it was best they got out of there.

She pushed their hotel room open, toeing off her heels so she sat at her normal height. With them on, she was taller than Logan rather than being almost exactly his height. Logan pushed the door closed behind him and locked it before he wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed soft kisses to her neck.

“Always so goddamn tempting when you dress like this.” He murmured against her skin. “Almost like you want to torture me.”

Maya turned in his arms and cupped his face, kissing him softly. It wasn’t her fault the revealing dresses made more men want to talk to her. And it wasn’t her fault she could be easy to talk to when she wanted to be.

Logan’s shoulders slumped as she kissed him. She relaxed him like no other person could, rendering him limp at times from just a simple touch.

She pushed Logan onto the couch and let out a soft breath as she looked down at him. And he looked up at her, pulling her close by her hand so she stood between his legs. He pressed the back of her hand to his lips, thumb rubbing against the wedding rings that sat on her fingers.

Her other hand lifted to push his eyepatch off his face, revealing the milky white eye underneath. He wasn’t completely blind in that eye but he was self-conscious about how it looked. Maya didn’t mind. She liked seeing his face in its full glory. Her thumb traced underneath his left eye, causing him to let out a breath of contentment.

The deformed eye was a result of getting shot, but it never quite healed right. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with his healing factor, it was fine with everything else. Just that one eye. However, he counted himself lucky that it didn’t look worse.

Logan huffed softly and leaned forward, burying his face in her solid but still plush stomach. He wrapped his arms around her hips as he nuzzled his face against her. He could feel her body rumble underneath him as she laughed. Her hands cradled the back of his head as he kept rubbing his face against her torso. A low purr escaped his chest.

He tugged her onto his lap, hands on her hips as he pushed his face into her neck to breathe in her scent properly. Now, it was mixed with a perfume which he had complained about many times before. It made it harder for him to pick up her smell.

Maya pressed a kiss to the side of his head, a light and easy smile on her face. One that she only had when she was with Logan and he was being affectionate like this.

“I love you.” Logan pulled away from her neck to look her in the eye when he said it. He was loyal to a fault for Maya. He’d kill for her, easily. If he could die, he would give up his life in an instant.

Maya’s eyes roamed over his face, her smile widening. “I love you too.” She pressed a kiss to his left eyebrow. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment.

They sat in silence for a while, drinking in each other's presence like they did most nights they were together. It was routine Logan wasn’t used to but he found that he loved it, even during missions like these.

He grabbed a cigar from his blazer and lit it. The light cast a harsh shadow over his face and illuminated him with a warm light, if only for a few seconds. Maybe less. Maya always thought he looked pretty when smoking a cigar and, sometimes, Logan would use that to his advantage.

He took a puff from the cigar and smirked as he blew the smoke in her face. She stared at him with an amused look in her eyes, largely unphased. She sat up a little straighter on his lap and raised an eyebrow with interest.

“Logan—” Maya breathed.

He cupped her chin with his free hand, thumb tracing her bottom lip. “C’mon, pretty girl,” He called her the one thing he knew would make her melt. “Open up.”

Maya’s eyes darkened, pupils blown wide that the color was only a thin ring. Her jaw clenched before she finally did comply, her lips parting.

Logan grinned as he took another drag from his cigar, sharp canines barely made an appearance between his lips. Maya noticed. He blew the smoke into her mouth like he had done it a hundred times before. He has. It never got old. She sucked in the smoke and blew it right back at him.

He pulled her chin close so he could kiss her, to taste the cigar on her lips. He would light up a cigar just to taste it on her lips a lot. He found it was more addicting than the tobacco they were made of.

“Can never get enough, can you?” A sly smile appeared on Maya’s lips as Logan pulled away, putting the cigar between his lips.

“Of you? Never.” He tilted his head, an eyebrow raised as he looked at her. His hands dropped to cradle her hips. “I married you, isn’t that proof?”

Her heart beat louder, harder in her chest when he mentioned they were married. She could never get used to it—his ring on her finger and her ring on his finger. How he stared at her with such love and adoration that she felt like her chest was an overflowing waterfall.

“If I recall, I proposed first.”

“True, but you beat me only by a week.”

“Mm, sure.”

Logan might have claws but he also had the ability to bend that waterfall to his will, subconsciously or not.

[bitingmypawsoff]

good time to introduce my X-Men oc?

his name is Percival (perci) and he's my silly little guy! I think you can tell he's a golden tiger.. he actually does have a lot of lore but it's not all typed out yet 🦦 also ignore the ship art.. I did it in like two seconds because I havent drawn Kurt in months.

[tiresias-the-prophet]

Wyv: hey uh Kurt I have a question

Kurt: Ask away mein Freund

Wyv: What are those marks on your body and what do they mean or are they just like part of your mutation

Kurt: They are angels symbols passed to humanity by the Archangel Gabrieal mein Freund I add one form every sin

Wyv going Overprotective Southern mom mode: oh Sweetheart... That's not healthy you shouldn't hurt yourself because you did something wrong

Kurt: Ah but that is how I was raised in the circus they said the only way God would forgive me is if I let them do that

Wyv: Sweetheart I get it everyone does religion differently but, Kurt whoever told you to do that isn't truly following the Bible your God has never said to do that you just pray for forgiveness and go on with your day...

Kurt: what..?

*They proceed to have a long heart to heart about the Bible, self harm, Religious abuse, ect*