Marvel: Life is Good

Life has settled down a bit. For four months now, I've been living in one of the Sisterhood's "country houses." They've got several of these small bases scattered across the U.S. and even a couple in Canada. Over that time, I've gotten to know this so-called "terrorist group" a little better. Honestly, they're like a wild mix of a hobby club, a support group, a community of hermits, and a spec-ops squad. Almost everyone here has been through some kind of hell because of their active X-gene.

Not that they share their stories much. In fact, nearly everyone clams up when asked, just looking all gloomy and saying something like, "It's not a great story, kid, don't burden yourself with it." Still, it's clear they're here because they've had no better options.

I guess I should explain how I ended up in this situation, huh?

It started during the three-hour trip with Magneto and Sabretooth. Early on, they handed me a phone to call my family and calm them down. Magneto assured me my family was safe, but advised me to be cautious about what I said and to hold off on making any plans until we had a proper talk about my situation.

After some thought, I called Mama Betty. She's a lieutenant in the police force—serious, no-nonsense, the kind of mom who's more like the gruff dad of the family. I won't detail the whole conversation, but after a barrage of questions like, "Where are you? What happened? Are you okay?" I gave her the honest, short version:

"I'm a mutant. I didn't say anything before because I only just found out myself. After training, I was abducted by some soldiers in unmarked uniforms but rescued by mutants who are now taking me to a safe place."

There was stunned silence on her end. I reassured her that I was fine and promised to call again once I had more clarity. We argued a bit, but Mama Betty, though clearly unhappy, agreed to wait. Her parting words? "Tell those ladies that if anything happens to you, I'll rip them new ones!"

I passed the message along. Sabretooth, sitting behind the wheel, snorted—keen ears on that one. Magneto, though, seemed surprised by how open I'd been over the phone, maybe even disapproving.

I shrugged and explained my reasoning: if someone's already hunting me, it doesn't matter much if my family knows or not. A tense but informed situation is better than complete uncertainty. At least, that's how I see it.

Erika shook her head disapprovingly and launched into a speech—complete with Sabretooth's snarky snorts in the background. Honestly, paint her black and call her Sasuke. Fem-version. Ha! Anyway, Magneto's speech was long and grim, all about mutants and the dangers we face.

And yeah, the picture she painted wasn't pretty. Turns out most mutants live in commune-like "reservations," join shady organizations for protection, or hide and stay under the radar.

The general public? They range from uneasy to downright hateful. Sure, some mutants use their powers for harm, but there are also plenty who just can't control them, accidentally hurting people. It's hard not to sympathize with those caught in the chaos of their own sudden abilities.

Take me, for instance. My mutation kicked in so subtly that I still can't pinpoint when it happened. Others, though? They explode. Like, literally. Boom. Best case, it's just their own body that gets shredded. Worst case, they're spraying lightning or fire or whatever else all over the place.

To be fair, Magneto said these catastrophic initiations are rare—she only knows of four cases in the past decade. But those few incidents? Media firestorms. It's almost funny, considering how easily the authorities usually sweep things under the rug with "gas leaks" or "terrorist attacks." But when it comes to mutant disasters? Oh no, they go full transparent honesty.

So yeah, with all the hostility, mutants hide. Or run. Usually straight into groups like the Sisterhood. And sometimes, they just… disappear.

Magneto and her crew have been chasing the people behind those disappearances for years. Best they've managed is intercepting squads like the one that was taking me. Those squads? Clueless grunts who know nothing. They're just paid to deliver mutants and then get the hell out.

Here's the kicker: male mutants? They vanish every time after their powers manifest.

That bit freaked me out. I mean, I knew about Stryker snatching up "promising" mutants, but I hadn't realized how rare guys like me are. Rookie mistake, I guess.

Anyway, the fact that a new male mutant had popped up, coupled with my imminent abduction, had the Sisterhood scrambling to my rescue. And, well, their "family" only had two other guys—Blob and Quicksilver.

The gist of Magneto's speech? Going home was risky. They weren't kidnapping me—they were giving me a choice: go back and risk getting nabbed again or join their underground crew.

I thought it over for about ten minutes. The math wasn't hard. Mama Betty can't watch me 24/7, and let's face it, one cop is no match for a whole armed squad. Plus, my powers don't work against gas. One puff, and I'm out cold, dreaming of ponies.

So yeah, I agreed to the underground plan. I'll stick with the ladies, train my powers, become stupidly strong, and figure out how to kick Stryker's ass. Then I'll go home and roll around in the hay with Penny.

I did ask the Sisterhood to handle breaking the news to my moms. Not the hay thing—just the underground plan. They're not hysterical airheads, so I think Mama Betty will get it, even if she grinds her teeth about it. Mama Judy, though… That's a problem. She's a sweetheart, but when it comes to me, she's like a hamster in full berserker rage mode. Picture her with a red bandana, camo face paint, and a machine gun ready to Rambo her way through anyone in her way. I'm exaggerating. A little. But you get the idea.

I've really grown to respect and appreciate Magneto. Sure, I get that her primary concern is helping me because I'm a mutant, and yeah, she probably sees some potential payoff down the line. But the thing is—she's actually helping. No strings attached, no locking me up in a basement or pulling shady mind games. She even kept her cool and stayed polite when she talked to my mom, Betty, after I decided to stay. They set up a meeting for the next day but agreed to finalize the location closer to time, just in case someone was eavesdropping and wanted to set up an ambush.

Now, you might ask—why did I decide to trust Magneto? Simple: what choice did I have? If she wanted to screw me over, she would've already done it. And let's be real—I'm pretty useless right now. My moms are tough, sure, but they're not equipped to deal with rogue black-ops teams or god-knows-what else. To survive, I need strength—whether that's my own power (which I don't have yet) or backing from a faction that does. Life isn't New Vegas where enemies wait politely while you weigh faction bonuses. So yeah, Magneto it is. Praise be to the Goddess.

The meeting itself was tense but ultimately successful. Mystique chauffeured my moms, zigzagging through the city like a paranoid squirrel to shake off potential tails. Meanwhile, Magneto, a small backup squad, and I waited at the rendezvous point.

The hardest part for me? Surviving the reunion. Turns out, my powers are useless when two women decide to hug the life out of me. After they were done suffocating me with affection (and Mom Judy's waterfall of tears), we all sat down to talk.

It was a slog. First, Magneto tried reasoning with them. Then I jumped in to back her up. Then it was me and Mom Betty double-teaming to convince Mom Judy. Eventually, we wore her down. I swear, even Sabretooth's perpetually unimpressed cat face looked relieved.

We agreed that I'd stay with the sisterhood, limit visits home to a bare minimum, and keep everything low-key for safety's sake. My moms had even packed a couple of duffel bags of my stuff in anticipation of this. So, hallelujah, I've got my NORMAL underwear back. I'll be handling my schoolwork independently, with plans to transfer to the Charlene Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters. Exams would be remote or in person, depending on the situation.

The idea of enrolling me there initially came up, but I vetoed it. No way was I letting some bald telepath dig through my brain. My skull is an intimate space, thank you. Sure, her Cerebro thing could technically find me anywhere, but here's hoping she doesn't bother.

Anyway, when I said I wanted to stay with Miss Lehnsherr and Miss Creed instead, I think Magneto was flattered. Sabretooth just snorted. To add a little spice, I told my moms how "nice" Victoria (Sabretooth) had been—how she'd carried me when I didn't have shoes. Her expression? Priceless. Even her ice-cold poker face cracked.

Oh, and by the way, this version of events makes me think the big fallout between Magneto and Professor X either hasn't happened yet or won't happen at all. Fingers crossed for the latter.

So, we hashed everything out, hugged it out, and said our goodbyes. I asked my moms to update Penny on what was going on. Mom Betty asked if I wanted to tell Penny about being a mutant. After a moment's thought, I said yes. If she loves me, she deserves the truth—even if it's shocking. Hell, she deserves it even as my best friend, let alone my fiancée. For everyone else, I'd just moved schools for "personal reasons."

And that's how it all went down. Now I live out in the middle of nowhere, in a not-so-small, two-story house with Blob, Toad, Sabretooth, with the occasional visits from Mystique and Magneto. Apparently, Blob (Fred Dukes) is here mainly to keep me company, so I don't feel like I'm drowning in estrogen.

Fred? He's a chill dude. Big, loves food, and surprisingly sweet. He handles most of the household chores and ropes the rest of us into helping now and then. He's also a walking encyclopedia on the sisterhood, filling me in on their ops and daily grind. Turns out, they're not just rescuing mutants in trouble—they also take mercenary jobs off the books and keep tabs on anti-mutant threats. They're like Xavier's crew but less squeaky-clean about it. Honestly, I respect that. Sometimes you gotta get your hands dirty.

The house itself is pretty well-equipped: plumbing, a generator for electricity, satellite TV, and eventually, satellite internet (which everyone started using, not just me). Social media? Banned. Communication? Heavily restricted. My moms are telling everyone I'm at some special school with a "no contact" policy. Not the best cover story, but hey—if anyone doubts it, they can go fuck themselves… preferably in the woods, with wolves, on top of a tall tree, with a pine cone.

Do I miss everyone? Hell yeah. Mom Judy's cooking, Mom Betty's stern-but-lovingly-gruff attitude, my friends, and, of course, Penny. God, I wonder how she's doing. How's her mom's treatment going?

To keep my mind off it, I threw myself into studying and convinced Toad and Sabretooth to train me. At first, they didn't take me seriously, but a few days of relentless effort later, they started stepping up. Now, I got my own routine: running, strength training, flexibility, and learning to actually fight. Not like the kiddie stuff back home—real, dirty, effective fighting. They showed me where to hit, how to hit, and what kind of damage I should be aiming for. When I asked about sparring, they laughed and said I wasn't ready yet. Fair enough. For now, I've got a punching bag to beat the crap out of until my hands go numb.

Life here? A bit complicated. But it's a start.

Toad, or Mari Toynbee, is actually kind of cool. She reminds me of a mix between Mom Betty and Gigig—into guy clothes, always on the move, and bursting with energy. I've only ever seen her sitting still when she's eating or perched on a porch chair in the evening. She's got a great sense of humor, loves teasing others just as much as herself. Her appearance? Well, it's a bit on the creepy side—lightly greenish skin, reptilian eyes, and a slightly thick neck. But honestly, you get used to it fast. She's super flexible and agile—like, I once saw her casually leap straight onto the roof to check the TV antenna. I swear my jaw almost hit the floor. It was that impressive.

Victoria Sabretooth, though, is a whole different vibe. She's all about smooth, deliberate movements—like a cat, really. A big, deadly, beautiful cat. She carries herself with this cold, slightly detached air. She doesn't talk much, keeps it to short phrases, grunts, or the occasional sarcastic chuckle. Smiles? Rare, and when they do happen, they're sharp, mocking, sometimes just downright mean. Honestly, she looks like a warrior princess who's completely fed up with humanity.

But her hair! That wild mane! Thick, gorgeous, down to her shoulder blades, and always a tangled mess. It's sacrilege! I mean, as a guy with standards for this world, I could not let it slide. If there's one divine mission I have here, it's to save that hair.

One morning, I caught her after a shower. She came out in just shorts and a tank top—no bra, nipples practically poking through the fabric—and started shaking her head like a dog drying off. Water splattered everywhere, and yeah, I caught some of it. She just glanced at me, muttered, "Morning, Toby," and strolled off to the kitchen, tying her hair into a careless knot as she went.

No. Just no. That was the last straw. We men are the guardians of beauty and harmony in this world! The Great Goddess would not approve of such treatment of divine tresses! If I have a secret mission here, this is it. I must act.

So I grabbed my hair care kit, commandeered Mari's brush (she looked utterly confused), and marched off to save the day.

Breakfast that day was probably the most entertaining meal the gang ever had—except for Victoria, of course. Mystique was practically in tears from laughing. Sabretooth, on the other hand, looked like I'd just suggested she eat her own claws. When I approached her from behind, set out my tools, and started gently working through her hair, she hissed, "Tobias, what the fuck are you doing?"

With my best Barrymore accent, I replied, "Creating beauty, Miss Victoria."

Forty minutes. It took forty minutes of brushing, detangling, trimming, hydrating, styling, and careful drying. She growled, hissed, and occasionally outright snarled. My response? "Patience, Miss Victoria. You're a lady, after all."

The result? Perfection. She looked five years younger—straight-up gorgeous, not just dangerous. The rest of the team could barely eat from laughing, while Mystique was full-on cackling the whole time.

And me? Oh, I've got skills, baby. Two moms and a younger sister will train you well.

Since then, I've become her official hair guy. I even braided a small, elegant plait for her once. Now, if her hair were longer—say, to her waist—it'd be a masterpiece. She also started training me even harder after that, but hey, the relationship improved. The only rule? I can't call her "Miss Victoria" anymore—it's either "Victoria" or "Sabretooth." No exceptions.

We even started sparring. Well, she sparred—I mostly tried not to die. Let me tell you, landing a hit on her? Impossible. I'd get swatted a couple of times, end up on the ground, and then get a lecture on everything I did wrong.

One time, though, there was… an incident. I was lounging on the couch, flipping through TV channels, and stumbled onto a bodybuilding competition. Now, back in my old world, I didn't care about these shows. But here? Seeing those jacked, beastly dudes made me feel a weird wave of nostalgia. There's something wholesome about massive guys flexing for the audience. I got so into it that I was practically cheering them on.

Then… I saw something. Something far more important. Slowly, I turned my head, and there it was: a perfect, full, gorgeous pair of breasts in a simple white bra—no frills, just clean and lovely. At least a C-cup, maybe pushing a D, I expertly noted. My mouth went dry, and my hands? Oh, those traitorous hands—they started reaching out of their own accord.

But then the vision moved downward, revealing an equally glorious six-pack. Before I could fully process it, a shirt came down, covering the dream.

I looked up. Victoria was smirking down at me with a predatory grin. She'd caught me red-handed. My heart sank.

"Everything's fine," she said, glancing over my shoulder. "He's straight."

Turns out, the whole squad—including Magneto—was watching the scene play out. Apparently, they'd been "concerned" about my orientation. Sabretooth, meanwhile, sauntered off, swaying her hips like she owned the place.

"Sabre—uh—Sabretooth," I croaked, my voice cracking. She turned, eyebrow arched, smirking like a cat that's just swallowed a canary.

With the most innocent, pleading expression I could muster, I begged, "Can we… uh… have an encore?"

"On your birthday, kid," she chuckled, walking away.

What she doesn't know? My birthday's in three days. And judging by the knowing looks from the rest of the gang, I think they've figured it out too.

But the most important thing was that I started seriously exploring my powers. Here's what I figured out: my abilities are kind of like Sebastian Shaw's but with it's own quirks and qualities. First, I absorb energy rather than dissipating it. I tested it on thermal and electrical energy—although I earned myself a smack upside the head from Toad for frying the generator. No, I didn't just shove my hands into it right away. First, I smacked myself with a piezoelectric element from a lighter—not much sensation, even in the most sensitive spot, my armpit. Then I convinced Sabretooth to test it with the car battery from her ride. Same story.

So naturally, I figured, if a car battery didn't do anything, the generator would be fine. Big mistake. Something fried, and we sat in the dark for a couple of hours while Toad cursed and poked at it.

Fire was even easier. I lit a campfire and gingerly tested how far I could go without feeling the heat. Eventually, Victoria found me sitting on the ground with my legs literally in the flames. Not hot at all—just pleasantly warm. At her raised brows and baffled expression, I explained what was happening. She nodded thoughtfully, told me to cut out the amateur experiments, and promised we'd discuss it with Erika the next day.

Two days later, Magneto showed up at our base with the Scarlet Witch in tow. Now that was an entrance. A stunning young woman, maybe eighteen or twenty, draped head-to-toe in crimson: fiery red hair, scarlet clothes, matching boots. A walking fashion statement. They asked me a few questions, then lined me up against a wall and started blasting me. Naturally, they began with light pulses of that mysterious red energy, but then Wanda got carried away and burned my shirt off. Honestly, I didn't mind. It felt kind of exhilarating, even. I could feel the impacts; the stronger ones hit like someone chucking a heavy pillow at me. If I wasn't leaning against the wall, I'd probably have fallen over.

The only issue with my powers? All that absorbed energy just fed into my "comfort shield"—essentially a kinetic buffer. It didn't seem to do much else, which was frustrating. Energy attacks didn't hurt me, but I wasn't turning into Sebastian Shaw 2.0 either. No "store it up and then unleash hell" mode. Just…comfort. Magneto even joked, "We could call it the Shield of Comfort."

I liked it. Made me laugh, imagining Evangelion's Angels with their AT Fields of terror, and here I was with a Shield of Snuggles.

Still, I asked if I could develop my powers further. Something offensive, maybe? I wanted to be able to hit back, y'know? Something that could shake the earth. Or at least throw someone through a wall.

Magneto's reply was... diplomatic.

"Tobias, let's start with Wanda training you twice a week. She'll help you explore your abilities, see if you can sense something latent. But be careful, all right? Your power seems intuitive. It's likely self-regulating for your own safety. Offensive capabilities might not even be necessary. When we take you to the school to take exams, there we can get more detailed information from a resident scientist about your powers."

That's when Toad—passing by with a smirk—decided to toss in her two cents.

"Hey, Toby, careful. Their top scientist starts every examination with anal probes."

I laughed. At first. Then I noticed Magneto's subtle hesitation when I looked her way for reassurance.

"She's joking, right? …Right?"

"Of course," she replied, though it wasn't the firmest answer I'd ever heard.

Wanda burst out laughing, which broke the tension. I wasn't entirely convinced, but hey, welcome to mutant life.

So, that was my routine: train, study, help out around the base, and continue my noble quest to tame Sabretooth's wild hair. Life was good, even if I missed home sometimes. Wanda tested her powers on me now and then, but they didn't do squat. My shield just absorbed everything it deemed harmful. Comfort Zone: 1. Chaos Magic: 0.

I still couldn't find any hidden potential in myself, but the real test loomed: a visit to Xavier's school for mutants. I wasn't thrilled. Sure, Charles was lawful good in the comics and supposedly the same here, but this wasn't canon. Fourteen years here had taught me to trust the people around me, not some vague memories from a previous life.

That said, I had faith. Mostly. Besides, if this world did have some kind of omnipotent goddess, I figured she had a soft spot for me. I mean, she'd let me keep my sense of humor, and that counts for something, right?

My family visited now and then, escorted by Mystique with all the necessary precautions. My moms were wary of the Sisterhood, but my little sister, Gigi, was fearless. To her, mutants weren't scary—her brother was one, after all. She charmed everyone, even Victoria. Yes, THE Sabretooth. Smiling. At a child. Like, a real, non-threatening smile. Terrifying and adorable in equal measure.

But not all the news was good. My girlfriend, Penny, was going through hell. Her dad, Mr. Black, had died in some freak accident. I barely knew what to do with myself after hearing that. It hit too close to home—losing a parent was a pain I wouldn't wish on anyone. I asked my mom to pass along my condolences. She hugged me, and we sat in silence for a while.

I've met the man once, but he was Penny's father. That made him important. He deserved better than the hand he'd been dealt.

"Mr. Black," meanwhile, sat lost in grim thoughts. Stryker's people had failed. The boy had ended up with mutants from Lehnsherr's Sisterhood and was now hiding somewhere with them. They couldn't track him down—not even surveillance on his mothers helped. Both his hired men and the colonel's girls lost their trail. Then, when the mothers started interacting with Penny, suspicious activity began stirring around the Black family.

It was only a matter of time before Stryker's "sniffers," also searching for the boy, started taking an interest in the head of the family. The irony wasn't lost on him—he himself had drawn attention to his family. A foolish mistake forced "Black" to stage an unfortunate accident, and now it was unclear when—or if—he would ever see his loved ones again. Fury smiled bitterly. It was as if the Goddess had exacted revenge on him for his treachery.

He doubted Penny herself would be targeted for abduction. Still, just in case, he hired a team of mercenaries—through Widowmaker—who specialized in covert protection for their charges.

There were many questions ahead that needed careful thought, but one of the most pressing for him was the relationship between Penelope and Tobias. How could he make sure they didn't end up together? Using Stryker to get rid of the boy hadn't worked. The group sent to capture his family had been found hacked to pieces in a dumpster.

Though that bitch still might have a chance. Alright, let's think it through for now and see what Stryker can accomplish. After that, he'll decide…

Everything went unexpectedly well. At first, when she received intel from Stryker's informants about the planned capture of her nephew, she almost tipped her hand too early. Elizabeth wasn't ready with her team, and the attack was set to happen in just a few hours. Thankfully, she had a brilliant idea. Why risk exposing her organization's operatives or her loyal people when she could use a third party eager to help her cause without even knowing it?

She leaked information about the operation to a weak, inconsequential mutant cell—one with ties to the Sisterhood. Xavier wasn't an option; a telepath is far too unpredictable and dangerous. In her labs, experiments were already underway with a few weak and nearly useless telepaths to develop a way to shield against mind invasion, but the results were still far off, and even the timelines were unclear.

So, the Sisterhood it was. She had no doubt that the zealous Jewish woman, in her obsessive mission to protect mutants, would leap to rescue the awakened boy. After all, while the human population had plenty of males, mutants had a much smaller pool to draw from.

Everything went according to plan. Now, she had the opportunity to influence one of the most powerful groups of superhumans in the country. Betty would keep in touch with her son, and through him, the mutants. Everything fell into place perfectly. And on top of that, they'd help uncover his potential.

Her decision to hire Deadpool to protect Tobias's family, along with a team of mercenaries for additional surveillance, had already proven itself. At least one strike team had been turned into a bloody salad by that lunatic Wilson. Cleaning up after her was a hassle, but a minor one.

Sitting back in her chair, glasses off, she turned on Wagner softly in the background and sipped her drink. Lately, her thoughts often drifted to Tobias. If he'd been a girl, she might have raised him as her successor.

But then a new thought struck her—did it even matter? What difference did gender make when you were controlling a vast network with tentacles wrapped around the entire world? What mattered was having a mind that met the requirements for the task.

Over the years, she'd grown more and more disillusioned with the organization and her "colleagues." Outdated. Obsessed with their individual fantasies and dreams. Reinhardt's fixation on alien artifacts, Zola's madness over cybernetics—it was endless. Only Pierce, it seemed, had retained her wits.

Pierce understood the value of subtle manipulation. She saw how, in the digital age, with instantaneous broadcasting, humanity was practically begging to have a collar and leash put on. The masses always craved a leader and panicked without one. Now, you could be everywhere at once—whispering through every speaker, shouting from every TV, pushing tailored messages to every phone. And the gullible sheep, hungry for opinions, scandal, and the latest trends, would drink in the propaganda—a carefully mixed cocktail of lies and half-truths.

As her late acquaintance once said, "Give me control of the media, and I can turn any nation into a herd of pigs."

The "mutant problem" was a perfect example—a golden opportunity for modern shepherds. Back in the Middle Ages, peasants would run to the priest screaming, "Why has the Goddess cursed our harvest?" And they'd get their answer: "The Goddess loves you, but the witch healer living on the edge of the village has cursed your crops. I warned you!" Then the mob would gleefully grab their torches and kindling, ready to burn the accused at the stake.

Nowadays, the media took on the role of the Goddess's voice, convincing the ignorant that mutants were to blame for nearly every misfortune.

A brilliant short-term strategy, perhaps, but not sustainable. Their numbers were growing. When there were only a handful, it was manageable. Now, the losses of valuable tools were becoming significant. Tools that could benefit humanity, work for its progress, and help rather than harm.

The conflict between humans and mutants was causing more harm than good. Those who were smarter than the average primate could see where the trend was heading. The chaos caused by independent or rogue mutant cells was destabilizing the situation—not by much, but it would only worsen.

But now, she had young Toby. A good boy. A mutant. He had the potential to become more than just a pretty, expensive, but useless ornament. He could become a tool—a very valuable one. And if things went well, perhaps even more. But it was too soon to plan too far ahead. Besides, the boy was still… soft.

Maybe that would change. Hardship had a way of forging strength. But for now? The plan to have a daughter as an heir needed to move forward. As for Tobias, let him stay among the mutants. If he lived up to expectations, great. If not? There was always a backup plan.

Meanwhile, Deadpool—sorry, Wanda Wilson—was prancing out of the shower, her towel slung lazily around her. Spring was in the air! Her mood was so high it could probably achieve orbit. What a glorious time—days filled with meaningful work, not just raking in cash but also bringing her immense joy.

Protecting her darling Tobi's family? Her best friend? No, more than that. Perhaps her destined soulmate! So what if he'd only seen her once? She saw him all the time. Practically every waking moment. And every time she did, her heart skipped a beat. Handsome, intelligent, kind… Her sweet Tobias had stolen her heart the first time they met. Yes, met! That was a date, dammit! And anyone who disagreed could eat a bullet!

Wanda flung open her wardrobe and gazed lovingly at the shrine she'd built. At the center was a photo of Tobias, droplets of water cascading down his sculpted torso. She sighed wistfully. God, it was so hard to snap that photo in the shower without him noticing…

Around the photo, in a sacred arrangement only she understood, were candles, stuffed animals, and "toys for grownups" of various shapes and sizes.

Her thoughts drifted back to him. How her heart had stopped when he hadn't come back from training. What a responsible boy, calling his moms as soon as he could! It was a shame he was in hiding now, but fate had intervened. The chance to guard his moms and sweet little sister? Wanda would've done it for free! He'd thank her one day. He'd be so grateful…

She giggled, her imagination running wild. 'Oh, Tobi,' she thought, 'you have no idea how much I love you… yet.'