Marvel: Life is Good

Birthday time! Congrats, Toby! You've made it one year closer to the age of consent! Fifteen years old—nothing to sneeze at! It's a big, solid number. You only turn fifteen once in your life!

Yep, today's my birthday. And where am I celebrating? In the underground hideout of a "terrorist" group. Moving up in the world, huh? Maybe next year, I'll be on a SHIELD Helicarrier, and the year after that, chilling in some Hydra bunker. Knock on wood. Goddess forbid.

Still, home would've been better. Imagine waking up, opening the door, and there's Ginger—a fiery little hurricane on the loose—racking up a hundred out of ten on the redhead scale. She'd leap at me, clinging on and squealing, "Happy Birthday, Toby!!!" Then she'd hitch a ride on my back all the way to the kitchen. There, I'd be met by my moms, who'd hug me, kiss me, peel Gigi off, and cheerfully wish me a happy birthday. They'd send me off to the bathroom, saying, "Presents are only for boys with clean faces and brushed teeth!" Man, I miss it…

Honestly, I'm at peace with whoever I was before this life. Memories, experiences, knowledge are still there, but they don't feel like mine. The emotions are faded, the vividness burnt out. Sure, my past experiences shaped who I am now, but this world, this upbringing, its traditions—they've done just as much. I'm more a person of this world than the last one. I've let go of my old life and embraced this one, taken myself as a new person with a new identity, even if I remember the old one.

Tobias is Tobias, not the guy I used to be. I have goals, family, people I love. I have fears, hobbies. Sure, I've brought useful stuff like programming and an optimistic outlook from the past, but I love my moms—deeply, wholly, not "as if they were real" moms, but as my real, actual moms. I adore Ginuevere—my sister with her sweet, mischievous independence, boundless energy, and unrelenting spirit. And Penny? She's my heart. Calm, thoughtful, a little shy, and full of warmth.

So yeah, I'll remember my old life, but this one? I'm living it.

And I love this world I'm in. It scares me, but I love it. Why? Because the people I care about are here. And also…boobs. I. Love. Boobs. There are so many more of them here than in the last life. Today, someone owes me a sneak peek, and I'm not letting that slide! Heh, heh, heh.

Not that I'm gonna beg for it or anything. If Victoria decides to flash her glorious upper ninety, I'm not stopping her. If she plays it cool like she didn't say a thing, I'll keep quiet. I've got my pride, after all! I'm a man, and badgering a girl for something like that—here or in my old life—is just wrong. Back there, I had my manly dignity; here, it's a matter of principle. Besides, there are plenty of women in this world. As long as you're not a complete disaster, finding someone isn't hard. Even someone like MJ has a fan club, and a brainy girl like Parker still pines for him.

So, I woke up, cleaned up, and shuffled down to the kitchen for some water. After that, it was a jog, some stretching, a workout, and breakfast. The morning air was crisp and cool—not that I get cold easily, but I could still feel the chill.

None of the girls joined me today. This place runs on "get up when you feel like it," and Victoria, true to her feline nature, sleeps in unless she's got something to do. Lately, I've been catching myself watching her more closely. She's…something. Athletic, strong, drop-dead gorgeous, with an air of mystery and just a touch of menace. I've even had a couple of spicy dreams starring her, and during training sessions, when she's wearing those slightly sweaty, figure-hugging clothes? Let's just say "Little Toby" makes his presence known. Thankfully, I don't think Sabretooth or Toad has noticed my awkward moments.

Speaking of Toad—she's in a relationship with Blob! Yeah, our big guy's killing it out here. Between his cooking skills and lovable personality, he's won over quite a few mutant ladies. Turns out, he and Mari even have a kid—living at Xavier's, of course, because the Sisterhood's hideouts aren't exactly family-friendly. They're on the road so much that it makes sense. Still, every now and then, Blob and Toad swing by the school to visit her.

Honestly, I really like the mutants of this world. They feel… closer. More united. Sure, they disagree, but they try not to go overboard. Xavier's all about peace, and Magneto's focused on mutant survival. They'll clash now and then, but they'll also help each other out, offer sanctuary, or just drop by to visit. Xavier's basically running an orphanage. Kids of all ages, even infants, live there. Anyone willing to follow her rules is welcome. The mutants here are…well, reasonable. That's how people should act in tough times—with support and solidarity.

After my morning workout, I went back inside to clean up and get some breakfast. Blob should've been awake by then, but if not, I'd whip up a killer sandwich and some strong black tea.

When I opened the kitchen door, though—surprise! Confetti, claps, and everyone shouting, "Happy birthday, Toby!" They all joined in with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Blob and Toad were loud and cheerful, while Sabretooth looked like she'd been forced into it, her expression screaming, 'Goddess, this is so dumb. When's it over?' Magneto and Mystique were smiling like proud grandparents, and Scarlet Witch was practically glowing, clapping and sending little red sparkles everywhere.

Moms and Gigi weren't there, but I kept my disappointment in check—I'm not a total jerk. Besides, it felt good. I hadn't told anyone about my birthday. They figured it out and planned all this on their own. I grinned and thanked Blob and the girls for going all out. They're seriously awesome. There was a cake with candles, which they made me blow out while making a wish. I went big and wished for world peace. Why not? If the world's at peace, we can all stop hiding underground, and I can live the pampered life of a Persian cat. Heh. Heh, altruism with a selfish twist!

While they cut the cake, I dashed off for a quick rinse, then we all sat down to eat. It was cozy, fun. Even Victoria, as grumpy and snarky as she can be, added to the vibe. By now, I can tell when her crankiness is real or just part of her "stay back or I'll bite" act.

The gifts? Pretty awesome. Magneto gave me a sleek, high-end suit "for exams," and Mystique got me an expensive hair-care set I'd been eyeing. Blob and Toad gifted me a full set of kitchen gear—from ladles to pots—and a massive recipe book. Blob even joked, "A man should know how to cook well to keep his women happy." Scarlet Witch gave me a nice set of writing supplies, fancy but not over-the-top.

But the biggest surprise? Victoria. She handed me a massive Colt Anaconda revolver—six shots, six-inch barrel. The others stared, dumbfounded, but she just said, "For when he's older. He's got protection, but no firepower. And his ability will help handle the recoil." Then she looked me dead in the eye and added, "You'll train with me, and it'll stay with me until you're eighteen."

So, do you think I was against it? Hell no! It's a gun. A real, honest-to-God big-ass firearm! This beast in my hands looked like a goddamn grenade launcher! With this monster, I… I… Uh, what exactly am I doing with it? Doesn't matter! I have a big gun now, and that automatically makes me dangerous. Dangerously stupid, too, because why did it never occur to me to think about firearms before? I was so hung up on superpowers that I completely overlooked how much Deadpool swears by her arsenal.

As I stood there grinning like an idiot, Sabretooth smirked, ruffled my hair, and promised to teach me the art of shooting later in the barn.

The rest of the day went by pretty much as usual. Magneto and Mystique left, and I spent the afternoon training my "quirk" with the Scarlet Witch in my underwear. Why just in my underwear, you ask? Well, I got tired of ruining my clothes. Her powers don't harm me, even when she goes all out, but my poor shirts and pants? Toast. That's why I'm currently as hairless as a freshly-waxed dolphin. Oh, and without fail, she always caps off our sessions by blasting a red magic ball at my ass, sending me marching to change with my bare cheeks gleaming to the laughter of everyone else.

After getting roasted, I moved on to physical training with Sabretooth and then headed to the barn for my shooting lesson. We set up targets, stacked some old boards behind them just in case, and got down to business. In my previous life, I had some experience with firearms, but this time I made sure to play dumb so she wouldn't suspect anything. She went over the basics: stance, grip, reloading, and safety.

Now, as for the shooting itself? This thing was awkward as hell. It's big, heavy, and my hands aren't quite strong enough yet. Even with my abilities, the recoil's no joke. Sabretooth reassured me, though: "In a couple of years, it'll be perfect for you, and you'll handle it better than most."

There was just one tiny issue: her constant adjusting of my stance. Sabretooth has this way of getting really close—like, physically close—while demonstrating things. And, well, my other superpower decided to stand up and take notice. I tried my best to play it cool, but she noticed anyway.

She smirked, snorted, and then, with a sigh, sat on a nearby crate. Patting the spot next to her, she motioned for me to sit down.

"Well, kid, you wanna talk about it?" she asked, her usual teasing grin firmly in place.

I sighed and sat down, giving her an exasperated look.

"Sabretooth, why are you like this? We were having a good session. Yeah, you made that joke back then, but I know you didn't mean it. I'm not chasing you down like, 'But you prooooomised!'"

She chuckled, her grin softening into something more genuine.

"You're a good kid, Toby. Look, I see where your eyes wander, and yeah, I've noticed the little tent in your pants. Don't blush; it's normal for your age. Hormones, wanting to screw anything that moves—it's part of growing up. But listen, you're just too young for me. You're what? Fifteen? Maybe if you were twenty, we could talk. But as it stands, I'm old enough to babysit your mom, so... no. Honestly, you should be ogling Wanda instead. She's been eyeing you too. Give it a year or two, and she might actually make a move."

"Uh… Vic—" I started.

"And another thing," she cut me off. "When you get to Xavier's, you'll be surrounded by girls your age. Flash that smile, show off that torso, and you'll have to beat them off with a stick." She chuckled. "So yeah, don't sweat it, kid. And no hard feelings, alright?" She placed a firm hand on my shoulder and looked me dead in the eye.

"No hard feelings, Victoria," I replied with a grin. Then, as she turned to leave, I added with a smirk, "But can we talk about this again when I am twenty?"

She barked out a laugh, stashed my gun, and threw me a cheeky glance. "You've got a deal, kid."

The rest of the day? Pretty damn great. Even Sabretooth's little heart-to-heart couldn't dampen my mood. She's right—I'm just a teenager to her. If she had been interested, she'd either be a straight-up predator or some cringe fanfic character.

I went to bed tired but content.

Time flew by after that—training, studying, and the occasional chill hangout kept me busy. Then, the day of the big exam arrived. Dressed in my snazzy new suit, with Mystique as my chauffeur and Miss Lehnsherr accompanying us, I rolled up to the gates of Xavier's mansion.

The place was stunning. Manicured lawns, sprawling grounds, and a mansion that looked straight out of a period drama. Kids of all ages were running around—some playing, some just hanging out. A few adults strolled by, looking all distinguished. I spotted a few dudes among the sea of girls, which was a relief. It meant I wouldn't be the only guy swimming in estrogen.

As we got out of the car, I reached for my suitcase, but Mystique held on to it. "You carry the backpack; let the women handle the heavy lifting," she quipped with a smirk.

The world around me seemed to slow down, and I could feel the attention zeroing in on me. Yeah, I'd expected something like this, but that didn't make it any less unnerving. New mutant girls showing up at the school? Business as usual. But an unfamiliar guy? That's news. I didn't even want to imagine the gossip that'd blow up the second we were out of earshot.

Inside the mansion? Straight out of a movie set. High windows, fancy rugs, chandeliers, wall sconces—everything old and expensive-looking. The kind of place that screamed, Respect me, peasants! It was so grand it left me speechless—no way was I cracking jokes in a place like this.

We turned a corner, chatting quietly as we walked, and there they were waiting for us: a sweet-looking redhead and… Logan.

The Logan. The real, honest-to-God Wolverine.

And, holy shit, was he a MAN.

He stood there, radiating raw masculinity with a cigar in his mouth, wearing a leather jacket over a flannel shirt, jeans, and heavy boots. His face? Unshaven and unmistakably annoyed. If you looked close enough, you could probably read the words "Fuck Off" scrawled across his mug in bold letters.

Not even this world could tame Wolverine. He'd grown himself a fresh pair, found a cigar, and I'd bet my life he was just as gruff and lethal here as anywhere else.

Wolverine is so badass, mosquitoes that drink his blood can fly at supersonic speeds and punch through ten-millimeter steel plates.

He's so badass that when he flexes in the mirror, bodybuilders within a ten-kilometer radius fall into existential crises.

He's so badass that Chuck Norris himself nods respectfully in his presence.

"Kid, you alright?" The gruff voice cut through my awe-struck daze. I blinked, realizing I'd stopped a few meters away from him, grinning like an absolute moron while openly gawking.

"Yes, sir! Of course, sir! Sorry, sir! Awesome jacket, sir! Oh, sh—" Mystique cuffed me on the back of the head. Dammit! It just slipped out, okay? "Sorry…"

"Is he always this weird?" Logan asked Magneto, jerking his thumb at me. "Is he, like, sick or something?"

Lehnsherr sighed and ignored his question, launching into introductions instead.

"Tobias, this is James Howlett. He—"

"Logan, kid. Just call me Logan," Wolverine cut her off. Without missing a beat, Magneto continued.

"—teaches PE at the school. And this is Jean Grey, assistant to Charlene Xavier, who runs this place. Logan, Jean, meet Tobias, our newest recruit."

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Logan, Ms. Grey," I said, trying to sound normal. Now came the moment of truth—would they read my mind?

"Hello, Tobias," Jean greeted me with a smile. Logan, on the other hand, just snorted. Definitely related to Sabretooth. The same grumpy snorts, same I-hate-you-all energy. They're like Uchihas—minus the Sharingan.

They led us deeper into the mansion without incident, finally dropping me off at my temporary quarters. With exams coming up, they didn't want to rearrange the whole staff's schedule for me, so I'd be staying here for a couple of weeks.

As for Jean? I wasn't sure if she hadn't read me or if my powers blocked her telepathy, the way they did Scarlet Witch's magic. Maybe she had read me and was just playing it cool. Ugh, the uncertainty was killing me.

The room itself? Not bad at all. Cozy single bed, bedside table, big window, wardrobe, a desk, and an en-suite bathroom. Basically, a hotel room disguised as a dorm.

They left me to settle in, saying they'd come back in 15-20 minutes to introduce me to Xavier. So, I got to unpacking.

Coats in the wardrobe, books on the desk, socks neatly stacked. Then, the piece de resistance: my boxers.

Look, everyone's got their quirks. Mine? Fun underwear. Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I don't care. Nothing starts the day better than stepping out of the shower and slipping into a fresh pair with a ridiculous print. That's just facts. So, I took my time folding them and putting them away with care.

I was holding my favorite pair—the ones with "Art Is an Explosion" printed on the back—admiring them like they were a masterpiece when I noticed it.

A face.

Just… a face.

Brown hair, big brown eyes, a curious little expression—poking through the wall.

It took me a second to process it, but once I did? OH HELL NO. A FACE IN THE WALL.

Where there'd just been wallpaper and wood paneling, now there was a whole-ass head staring at me! I screamed, panicked, and chucked the first thing in my hand straight at it.

My boxers.

And you know what? The damn face screamed back, caught my beloved underwear with a hand that popped out of the wall, and disappeared—boxers and all—into whatever cursed dimension it came from.

WITH. MY. FAVORITE. BOXERS.

In that moment, I understood Gollum's rage when that sneaky little hobbit stole his ring. Fury. Hatred. A burning thirst for revenge.

"GIVE ME BACK MY KNICKERS, YOU DEVIATE!" I roared, bursting out of the room like a man possessed.