miswa-sopas

LOGAN HOWLETT !!

The finder is Scott Summers. He has a look of profound, almost smug, satisfaction on his face. He finds Logan in the garage, shirtless, welding something that is definitely not the motorcycle he’s supposed to be fixing.

“Logan. It’s your… kid.”

The welding torch cuts off with a hiss. Logan doesn’t turn around. “She’s not my kid, Summers.”

“Well, your ‘not-kid’ is in her room, crying her eyes out. Jean’s been in there for twenty minutes. Rogue tried. Even Charles took a crack at it. Nothing’s working. Storm said she keeps asking for… well, the ‘guy who smells like beer and anger.’”

Logan finally turns, his expression a thundercloud that could rival Thor. He snatches a flannel shirt from a hook, pulling it on over his bare chest with a growl. “You tell anyone about this, and I’ll use your visor as a hockey puck.”

He storms through the mansion, Scott having to jog to keep up. The sound of muffled, hiccupping sobs hits him before he even reaches the door. He throws it open without knocking. Jean is on the bed, looking exhausted. You’re curled in a ball, shoulders shaking.

“Alright, out,” Logan grunts, jerking his head at Jean. She gives him a look that’s half-grateful, half-warning, and slips past him.

Logan stands there, a man who has fought unkillable mutants and adamantium-poisoning, utterly paralyzed by the sight of a crying teenager. He shoves his hands deep into his pockets. “Hey. Kid.”

You don’t move. A fresh wave of sobs wracks your body.

He sighs, a sound that seems to come from the very marrow of his bones. He sits on the edge of the bed, the springs groaning under his weight. “C’mere.”

You uncurl just enough to launch yourself at him, burying your face in the flannel. He’s stiff as a board for a solid three seconds, his arms hovering in the air like he’s forgotten what they’re for. Then, with another, deeper sigh, one arm comes around you. His big, metal-infused hand lands awkwardly on your back, patting it with the same force he’d use to knock out a Sentinel.

“There,” he mutters, the word a low rumble in his chest. “It’s fine. Whatever it is, it’s fine. I’ll go break its kneecaps later.”

Your sobs begin to quiet, your breathing syncing with the steady, adamantium-laced heartbeat under your ear.

Scott, who has been peering through the crack in the door, is immediately caught by Logan’s glare. The door slams shut on its own, ripped from its hinges by a single, extended claw. Scott barely ducks in time.

Logan looks down at you, now just sniffling. He uses his other hand to roughly—but with a terrifying gentleness—push a strand of hair from your face. “You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?” he grumbles.

You just nod against his chest. He’s already planning the kneecap-breaking.

WORST WOLVERINE !!

The finder is, of course, Deadpool. He bursts into the shitty, cockroach-infested apartment that Logan has been crashing in, wearing his full suit but with the mask pulled up over his nose so he can eat a gas station burrito.

“Daddy! Daddy! We have a code red! Code red! The small, emotionally volatile one is leaking from the ocular cavities!”

Logan, slumped on a couch that has seen better centuries, doesn’t even look up from the bottle of whiskey in his hand. “Which one?” Because it could either be the dog, the kid, or Laura.

“The one that calls me the fun dad, which is objectively true, but apparently, when the world is ending, she requires the services of the grumpy, feral, stabby one! my words, not hers. She’s in the bathroom. It’s a whole thing. I tried singing ‘Careless Whisper’ on my kazoo. No dice. It made it worse.”

Logan grunts, sets the bottle down, and stands up. He’s wearing a stained wifebeater and jeans. He walks to the bathroom, Deadpool trailing behind him like a very annoying, red-suited duckling. The door is locked. He can hear you on the other side, your breath hitching in that awful way.

He doesn’t knock. He just raps his knuckles on the door once. “Open up.”

A strangled, watery “Go away” comes from inside.

He looks at Deadpool. Deadpool gives him an enthusiastic thumbs-up and whispers, “This is your moment, Pops. I believe in you.”

Logan’s eye twitches. He takes a breath, a real one, and his voice comes out completely different. It’s not a growl. It’s… a command, but a soft one. A voice that’s used to being obeyed because it promises safety. “Kid. Open the damn door.”

There’s a click. The door cracks open. Your face is blotchy, eyes red-rimmed. Logan pushes the door open wider, fills the doorway with his broad, scarred frame. He doesn’t say anything else. He just opens his arms a little, a minimal gesture, but one that’s clear.

You stumble into him, your face pressing against his chest, soaking the wifebeater with tears. He wraps his arms around you, one hand coming up to cup the back of your head. He doesn’t pat. He just holds.

“There,” he mutters into your hair, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrates through your whole body. “I got ya.”

From down the hall, Deadpool’s voice echoes, muffled but clear. “And I got it on camera! This is going straight to the group chat! The one without him! Oh, wait, he’s in that one. Never mind. I’m framing it!”

Logan’s claws snikt out. He doesn’t let go of you, but one set of knuckles scrapes against the doorframe. “Wade…”

WADE WILSON !!

“Hey, Motor Mouth. Your girl is in the kitchen, crying into a box of your fancy organic mac and cheese.”

Wade pauses from painting his nails, a cotton ball between his toes, at the sound of Blind Al's voice. “Define fancy. The one with the powdered cheese from the real Dutch cows, or the one that’s shaped like superheroes?”

“It smells like the ones shaped like little Wolverines. She’s been at it for ten minutes.”

Wade is on his feet in a flash, leaving a trail of blue polish on the floor. “Okay, okay, crisis mode. Is she sad-crying or angry-crying? Or was it the ‘my God, that’s the third time this week the universe has reminded me that I have a history essay due and I haven’t started it’ cry?”

“I don’t know, I’m blind, you ass.”

He bounds into the kitchen. You’re sitting on the counter, a box of Wolverine-shaped macaroni clutched to your chest, your face a mess of tears and snot. The TV is playing a cooking show.

“Alright, alright, clear the room! Professional parent coming through!”

Wade slides to a stop in front of you, leaning his forearms on the counter on either side of you, boxing you in. “Okay, chit-chat time. What’s the damage? Did someone say your art project looked like a potato? Because potatoes are delicious and versatile and frankly, a noble artistic subject. Did the guy from the coffee shop give you the wrong milk again? Because I will go full John Wick on his lactose-intolerant ass.”

You just shake your head, a fresh sob escaping.

His mask’s eye holes go wide. “Oh, no. It’s the big one. The existential dread one. The one where you remember we’re all just meat sacks hurtling through the void.” He straightens up. “Okay, new plan. Operation: Cuddle Puddle.”

He scoops you off the counter, box of mac and cheese and all, and carries you over to the living room until he collapses into the worn armchair in the corner, pulling you onto his lap. All wiry limbs and the smell of gunpowder and cheap cologne.

“There we go. Breathe with me. In through the nose… and out through the mouth. And… do you want me to do the thing? The thing that always makes you laugh?”

You shake your head, burying your face in his neck.

“Too bad. I’m doing the thing.” He clears his throat and launches into a pitch-perfect impression of a very, very very British Logan. “I’m the best there is at what I do, bub, and what I do is… is… have you seen my reading glasses? I can’t find my reading glasses and I’m very, very upset about it.”

A wet, choked giggle escapes you, followed by another sob, and then another giggle. He starts rubbing your back in slow circles, his voice dropping to a softer, less manic register. “There she is. My little chaos gremlin. You know you’re stuck with me, right? For all the sad times and the weird times and the ‘I accidentally bought 400 bottles of lube on the dark web’ times. That’s a promise.”

Your breathing evens out, the tears finally stopping. You just hold onto him, the box of mac and cheese crushed between you. He hums a tuneless, comforting melody, his chin resting on the top of your head.

From the hallway, Blind Al calls out, “Is it over?”

“Yeah, Al,” Wade says, not looking up from you. “It’s over.”

“Good. You owe me twenty bucks. I said you’d be in there for less than four minutes.”

ORIGINS! WADE WILSON !!

The finder is Fred Dukes, aka The Blob. He finds Wade at the seedy bar next to the motel the whole team was staying at, nursing a whiskey, his handsome face lit by the neon sign for “Pabst Blue Ribbon.” He’s wearing a leather jacket and looking like he just stepped out of a low-budget, high-action music video.

“Yo, Wilson. Your kid’s at the apartment. She’s crying. Like, real crying. Not the ‘I stubbed my toe’ crying. The ‘someone broke my heart’ kind.”

Wade’s head snaps up, his easy-going, charming demeanor vanishing in an instant. His hand tightens around the glass. “Who?”

“I don’t know, man, some guy named Kyle? Or Kevin? I was busy with a sandwich.”

Wade slaps a bill on the counter, enough to cover his tab and then some. He’s already moving, his long legs eating up the distance to the door. Fred has to hustle to keep up. “You want me to come? I could eat him if it’s a Kevin problem.”

“I got it, Fred.” Wade’s voice is clipped. He’s not the unkillable, scarred man he’s destined to become in another life. He’s just a man. A very, very dangerous man with a lot of swords and a sudden, burning need to find a person named Kevin.

He makes it to the room in record time. He unlocks the door, stepping inside. You’re on the couch, curled up, a photo of you and some kid with bad hair on the floor. Your shoulders are shaking.

Wade doesn’t say a word. He just walks over, sits on the coffee table in front of you, and gently, so gently, takes your hands, pulling them away from your face.

“Hey,” he says, his voice smooth as silk, a stark contrast to the coiled tension in his jaw. “Look at me.”

You do, your eyes swimming. “He- he said I was too much. That I’m… a lot.”

Wade’s expression doesn’t change. He even smiles, a slow, devastatingly handsome smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “A lot. That’s what he said?”

You nod, a fresh tear rolling down your cheek.

He uses his thumb to wipe it away, then tilts your chin up. “Okay. Here’s the thing about that. Being a lot is a good thing. It means you’re interesting. It means you’re worth knowing. It means you’re not boring, like, say…” he glances at the photo on the floor, “this Kevin-looking-ass-motherfucker.”

A watery laugh escapes you.

“That guy?” Wade continues, nodding toward the photo. “He’s not a lot. He’s a little. A little boring, a little basic, a little bit of a coward for saying that to you. You want to know what I do to people who say things like that to the people I care about?”

“Wade…”

“I’m just asking a hypothetical. Do you want me to key his parents' car? Just a little key? Maybe a smiley face?”

“No,” you say, but you’re laughing more now.

He pulls you into a hug, holding you against his chest. He smells like whiskey, leather, and something clean. “Good, because I was going to do it anyway. But I’ll make it a small smiley face. On the passenger side. Low-impact. Now, come on. I think we have some Rocky Road in the freezer. We’re gonna eat the whole thing, then we’re gonna watch Die Hard, and then we’re gonna figure out which of Fred’s shirts has the least amount of food stains on it for you to sleep in.”

You melt into him, the last of the tension leaving your body. He holds you for a long moment, his chin resting on your head, his eyes fixed on the photo of the kid. A thoughtful, predatory look crosses his handsome features.

Tomorrow, Kevin’s parents's car is going to have a very artistic, but very permanent, smiley face keyed into the driver’s side door. Wade decided ‘passenger side’ was too generous.

REMY LEBEAU !!

The Xavier mansion was usually a place of controlled chaos. But the chaos that found Remy in the greenhouse, where he was ‘tending to his cards’ (read: shuffling them obsessively), was of a more distressing nature. Rogue, her face uncharacteristically soft, pushed through the humidity and the hanging plants.

“Sugah,” she says, her Southern drawl tinged with worry. “It’s the girl. She’s in her room. Wouldn’t tell me what’s wrong, but she’s been cryin’ for the better part of an hour. She asked for ya.”

The cards in his hand still. His easy smile, the one he wore like a second skin, flickers. “For me, cherie? Surely, she’d be better with Professor Xavier, or Jean, or…”

“She asked for ya,” Rogue repeats, cutting him off. “By name. So stop shufflin’ and get movin’.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. The cards were pocketed, the charming demeanor replaced by a focused intensity. He makes his way through the mansion, bypassing the elevators for the stairs, taking them two at a time. He wasn’t known for being serious. He was known for being the joker, the flirt, the one who never let anything get to him. But this is different.

He knocks on your door, a soft rap of knuckles on wood. “Ma petite? It’s Remy. I hear you’re having a bad day, non?”

A sniffle from inside. Then, a shaky, “Go away.”

He leans his forehead against the door, closing his eyes. “I cannot do that, cher. Rogue, she told me y'asked for Remy. So now I am here. And Remy LeBeau, he is like a bad penny. He always turns up. So you gonna let me in, or am I gonna have to pick dis lock? Because I will. And it will be very loud, and everyone will know.”

There is a long pause. Then, the sound of the door unlocking. He pushes it open slowly.

You are sitting on the floor, your back against your bed, your knees drawn up. Your face is a wreck—red, splotchy, tear-streaked. You look up at him, and your lower lip trembles violently. “I don’ wanna talk 'bout it.”

“Good,” he says, closing the door and sliding down to sit on the floor opposite you. He crosses his legs, mirroring your posture. “Because talking is overrated. Remy, he is a man of action. So. What do we do? We can sit here. We can play cards. We can plot de downfall of whoever made you cry. I’m good at dat last one. Very good.”

You let out a choked, watery laugh. “You don’t even know what happened.”

He shrugs, a graceful, Gallic movement. “Does not matter. They made my petite cry. Dat is all the information I need.” He pulls a deck of cards from his coat, his fingers moving with a practiced, hypnotic fluidity. “In the meantime, let me show you something. A trick my maman taught me.”

He begins to shuffle, but it was more than shuffling. The cards dance between his fingers, fanning out, cascading, forming a tower in his palm, then a bridge, then a perfect circle. His movements are a blur of red and black, a mesmerizing distraction.

“When I was a boy,” he says, his voice low and soothing, the Cajun accent thicker than usual, “I would get sad. Homesick. Lonely. My maman, she would sit with me and do dis. She’d make de cards dance, and she’d say, ‘Remy, look. Even the smallest thing, a simple card, can be beautiful. Can be something more. You, too, are something more.’”

The cards suddenly burst into a shower of pink kinetic energy, floating in the air between you like glowing, spinning leaves before he catches them and tucks them back into the deck. He looks at you, his dark eyes serious.

“So. You tell Remy when you are ready. Or you don’t tell him. Dat is your choice.” He holds out the deck. “But for now? We play. What is your game? Go Fish? War? Poker? Remy can teach you how to cheat. Very important life skill.”

You look at his outstretched hand, then up at his face. The playful mask is gone, replaced by a sincere, open kindness that is more disarming than any flirtatious smile.

You take the cards. And then, instead of pulling away, you lean forward and wrap your arms around him. He stiffens for a second, surprised, then his arms come around you, one hand rubbing your back in slow, soothing circles.

“Chère,” he murmurs against your hair. “It’s alright. I got you.”

You don't play cards for a long time. You just sit there, on the floor, your face buried in his shoulder, his coat smelling of old spice and cardstock and something warm. He hums a low, Cajun tune, a lullaby his mother used to sing, the words soft and unfamiliar.

When you finally pull back, your tears had stopped. You look at the deck of cards still in your hand.

“Can you really teach me to cheat at poker?” you ask, your voice a little hoarse but steady.

He grins, a flash of the old Remy returning. “Mais oui, ma petite. But you have to promise me one thing.”

“What?”

His grin softening into a real smile. “That you only use your powers for good. Or for making a profit off of Scott Summers. He has a terrible poker face. It is almost too easy.”

You laugh. A real laugh, if a bit watery. He takes the deck from you, shuffling it one-handed.

“Now,” he says, his eyes twinkling. “Lesson one. De art of the distraction.”

He holds up a card, and with a flick of his wrist, it bursts into pink sparks, reforming into the Ace of Spades in his other hand. You watch, mesmerized, the last of the sadness in your chest replaced by something warm and safe. He might flirt with everyone, he might be a thief and a rogue, but right now, in this moment, he is just yours.

EDDIE BROCK ( & VENOM ) !!

Mrs. Chen calls Eddie’s cell phone. He’s in the middle of a “interview” (i.e., trying to get a good photo of a politician leaving a massage parlor) when it rings.

“Eddie! Your little one is here. She is crying. Big tears. Very loud. My customers, they are scared.”

Eddie’s head snaps up. “What do you mean she’s crying? Is she hurt?”

“No, no hurt. She just comes in, sits in the corner, and cries. She asks for you. And the other one.”

“The other one?” Eddie says, confused. Then a voice, low and guttural, echoes in his head.

"The loud one. The symbiote. She asked for us, Eddie. She is ours. Go to her."

“I’m on my way, Mrs. Chen. Don’t let anyone bother her.”

Eddie runs the six blocks to the convenience store, his heart pounding. He bursts through the door to find you sitting on the floor behind the magazine rack, your knees drawn up, sobbing into your hoodie. Mrs. Chen is standing guard with a broom.

“Hey, hey, kid,” Eddie says, dropping to his knees in front of you. “What’s going on? What happened?”

You look up, your face a mess. “I got in a fight with my friend. A big one. And I said some things I didn’t mean, and she said some things, and now she’s not talking to me, and I ruined everything.”

Eddie winces. He’s not great at this. He’s not great at most things. But before he can fumble his way through a response, he feels the familiar, cold shift in his spine.

"Let us talk to her, Eddie. You are bad at this."

"We’re not doing the head-thing in front of Mrs. Chen. She’ll freak out."

"She will not. She has seen worse. We have eaten a man in here."

A tendril of black ooze snakes out of Eddie’s shoulder, forming a small, vaguely head-shaped blob that hovers near your face. You don’t even flinch. You’ve seen this before.

“We do not like this,” Venom’s voice rumbles, not in Eddie’s head, but out loud, a low, guttural vibration. “The friend. She is bad. She made you leak. We will find her. We will eat her.”

A startled laugh escapes you, watery but genuine. “No, Venom. You can’t eat my friend.”

“We can. We are very hungry. And she is bad.”

“She’s not bad. I was bad too.”

Venom’s head-blob tilts, as if considering this. “You are not bad. You are ours. You are good. The friend is… acceptable. For now. But if she makes you leak again…” A row of very sharp, very large teeth appears in the blob.

You laugh again, a real laugh this time, and Eddie finally lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He reaches out and pulls you into a hug, and Venom recedes slightly, just enough to let him.

“Friends fight, kid,” Eddie says, his voice gruff against your hair. “It happens. It doesn’t mean it’s over. It just means you gotta go talk to her. Apologize for the things you said. See if she’ll apologize for hers.”

“What if she doesn’t?”

“Then she’s not a very good friend. And then maybe we let Venom have a little snack. Just a finger.”

“A pinky. The smallest one.”

You’re laughing now, the tears finally stopping. You pull back, wiping your face with your sleeve. “Okay. Okay, I’ll go talk to her.”

“Good. But first,” Eddie says, standing up and pulling you to your feet. “You need chocolate. And Mrs. Chen has the good stuff. The dark chocolate. It’s scientifically proven to make you feel better.”

“We also require chocolate. All of it.”

Mrs. Chen sighs from behind the counter, but she’s already reaching for the top shelf.

STEVE ROGERS !!

Natasha finds Steve in the gym, punching a heavy bag with a level of precision that borders on the obsessive. He’s in a grey t-shirt, sweat beading on his forehead.

“Captain. We have a situation.”

He doesn’t stop punching. “What kind?”

“The small, emotional, and entirely unresponsive to my attempts at logic kind. Your girl is in the common room, crying. I offered her a way to subtly ruin the life of whoever did this to her. She said she ‘just wants Steve.’”

The punching bag stops mid-swing. Steve turns, his face a mask of immediate, focused concern. “Who did what?”

“That’s the thing. From what I could gather, it was a group project. The rest of her team took credit for her work. She’s more hurt than angry. Hence, the crying. Hence, the need for the resident moral compass.”

Steve is already grabbing a towel, wiping his face. “Where is she now?”

“Common room. Sam’s with her. He’s trying the ‘funny uncle’ approach. It’s not going great.”

Steve walks into the common room to find Sam Wilson sitting on the coffee table, doing an elaborate hand gesture. “…and then the bird just looks at me, right, and I swear it said ‘buckets.’ I don’t know why. It was just… ‘buckets.’”

You’re curled on the couch, a blanket around your shoulders, tears still silently streaming down your face. You don’t even look at Sam. You’re just staring at the wall.

“Sam,” Steve says quietly.

Sam looks up, sees Steve’s expression, and immediately stands up. “Yeah. I’ll… go make some coffee. The non-burnt kind this time.” He gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze and exits.

Steve doesn’t say anything for a moment. He just sits down on the couch next to you, close enough that his warmth radiates over to you. He doesn’t touch you, not yet. He’s learned that sometimes that’s too much.

“I hear someone wasn’t being a good teammate,” he says, his voice low and steady. It’s the voice he uses to calm down panicking civilians, to give orders in a firefight. It’s the voice of a man who has seen the worst of humanity and still believes in the best.

You look at him, your chin wobbling. “They took my work. All of it. I did the whole project, and they just… presented it. And the teacher believed them.”

Steve’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “That’s not right.”

“I know,” you whisper, a fresh tear escaping. “But I don’t know what to do.”

He finally moves, his arm coming around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. It’s a solid, immovable presence. “Yes, you do. You tell the truth. You go to the teacher, you go to the principal, you go to the superintendent if you have to. And you don’t let anyone make you feel small for standing up for what’s right.”

“What if they don’t believe me?”

He tilts your chin up, his blue eyes unwavering. “Then I’ll go with you. And I can be very persuasive.” A tiny hint of a smile touches his lips. “I’ve had some practice.”

You lean into him, the knot in your chest finally beginning to loosen. He pulls the blanket tighter around you, his hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on your arm.

“I’m proud of you,” he says after a long moment.

You look up, confused. “For what? I’ve just been crying.”

“For doing the work. For caring. For feeling this. That’s not weakness. That’s what makes you strong. Don’t let anyone take that from you.”

You bury your face in his shoulder, letting his solid, unwavering presence wash over you. Sam appears in the doorway with two mugs of coffee, takes one look, and silently backs away, a smile on his face. He’ll bring the coffee in later.

TONY STARK !!

“Boss.”

“Not now, Happy. I’m recalibrating the repulsor efficiency curve. It’s a delicate process that requires-“

“It’s about the kid.”

The music cuts off. The holograms flicker and die. Tony spins on his stool, eyes wide. “Is she okay? Is she hurt? Did someone at that fancy school say something? I knew it. I knew I should have just bought the school. I can buy a school. I have bought schools. I bought MIT once, just for a weekend.”

“She’s fine. She’s in her room. She’s just… crying. Pepper’s with her. She’s been at it for a while. She keeps asking for you.”

Tony is already walking, leaving the lab without a backward glance. He’s stripped off his arc reactor casing and is down to a black t-shirt. “What do you mean, just crying? People don’t ‘just cry.’ There’s a reason. Did we run out of that kombucha she likes? I’ll call the CEO. I’ll buy the company.”

He reaches your door, not even bothering to knock, just walking in. Pepper is sitting on the edge of your bed, looking helpless as you sob into a pillow.

Tony takes one look and his entire demeanor shifts. The manic energy drains away, replaced by something focused and surprisingly soft. “Hey, Pep. I got this.”

Pepper gives him a look that’s pure relief and kisses your head before slipping out.

Tony doesn’t sit on the bed. He sits on the floor, leaning back against the side of it, so his head is level with yours where you’re lying. He picks up your hand, the one dangling over the edge, and starts messing with your fingers.

“Okay. So. I’m getting mixed signals here. Is it a world-ending crisis, or a ‘Becky from chem class’ crisis? Because I have solutions for both. For the first one, I have a giant suit of armor. For the second one, I have a satellite that can make sure Becky from chem class never gets a decent Wi-Fi signal again.”

You peek at him from over the pillow, your face a mess. “She said my project was derivative.”

Tony gasps, a hand flying to his chest in mock horror. “Derivative? Derivative? That’s the most serious charge one can level in a STEM field. Did she use that word? ‘Derivative’? She sounds like a pretentious little goblin who peaked in seventh-grade science fair with a baking soda volcano.”

You laugh, a small, hiccupping sound.

“Here’s the thing,” he says, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Your project wasn’t derivative. It was innovative. You know why? Because I read it. Because I’m a genius, and I said so. And my word is the only one that matters. Now, are you done? Because FRIDAY’s been monitoring your stress levels and they’re dangerously high. We need to bring them down. Ice cream or a trip to the garage to blow something up? Those are the only two options. I won’t accept ‘neither.’”

You sit up, wiping your eyes. “Ice cream.”

“Excellent choice. But we’re getting the fancy stuff. The kind that costs more than Happy’s monthly salary. And on the way, we’re going to come up with at least three ways to passive-aggressively undermine Becky’s next project. Nothing illegal. Just deeply, deeply annoying.”

You slide off the bed, and he stands up, slinging an arm around your shoulders. It’s loose, casual, but it’s also the most secure thing you’ve felt all day. He steers you out of the room, already talking a mile a minute about the molecular gastronomy ice cream parlor he’s going to have flown in from Japan.

Pepper, watching from the hallway, just shakes her head and smiles.

THOR ODINSON !!

The finder is Bruce Banner. He finds Thor in the communal kitchen, attempting to make toast with Mjolnir. It’s not going well.

“Thor. Hey. Can I talk to you for a sec?”

“Of course, friend Banner! I am merely—hark! The bread, it is most defiant! It refuses to brown!” He slams the hammer down again, and the toaster sparks.

“Okay, that’s… that’s fine. Listen, it’s about the kid. Your… ward.”

Thor’s whole demeanor changes. The good-natured, thunderous confusion vanishes. He sets Mjolnir down with a gentle thud. “What has befallen her? Is she injured? Has some foul beast beset her?”

“No, nothing like that. She’s just… in her room. She’s very upset. Natasha tried talking to her, but she said she just kept asking for you.”

Thor is already striding toward the living quarters, his cape billowing dramatically despite the lack of wind. Bruce has to practically run to keep up. Thor pauses outside your door, a look of genuine concern on his face.

“Has she eaten? Perhaps a feast would-“

“Thor. Just… go in.”

He opens the door. You’re sitting on the windowsill, looking out at the city, your back to the door. You’re not sobbing, but silent tears are rolling down your cheeks. Your shoulders are hunched.

“Little one,” Thor says, his voice a low, gentle rumble that seems to fill the room.

You turn, and the moment you see him, your face crumples. “I failed my history test. I studied so hard, but I just- I couldn’t-“

“A test?” Thor says, crossing the room in two strides. He kneels in front of you, his massive hands coming to rest on your knees. “This is the source of your sorrow? A mere trial of memorization?”

“It’s not mere! It’s important! And now my GPA is-“

He cuts you off by pulling you into a hug so encompassing that you disappear into his chest. He smells like ozone, rain, and the faint sweetness of mead. He holds you like you’re something infinitely precious.

“In Asgard,” he says, his voice vibrating through you, “we had trials of worth. They were not of parchment and ink, but of courage and might. To fail one was to learn the measure of your foe, to find a new path to victory. This… this is but a pebble on your path. A tiny, insignificant pebble.”

You sniffle against his tunic. “It doesn’t feel insignificant.”

“I know,” he says, pulling back to look at you, his blue eyes filled with a warmth that could chase away any storm. “But I will tell you a secret. I, the Prince of Asgard, the God of Thunder, once failed a test of strategy so spectacularly that my father, Odin, declared me a ‘bullheaded oaf who would not know a tactical retreat if it bit him in the—’ well, he said a word that is not fit for your ears.”

A shocked laugh bursts out of you. “No way.”

“By the Norns, it is true. And yet, I stand here today. So too shall you. Now,” he says, wiping the tears from your face with the pad of his thumb, a gesture so tender it seems impossible from hands that wield a storm. “I believe this calls for a celebration of your bravery in the face of adversity. We shall go to Midgard’s finest establishment for frozen dairy treats. And I shall regale you with tales of my most spectacular failures. They are many, and they are glorious.”

He scoops you up effortlessly, setting you on his hip as if you weigh nothing, and carries you out of the room, already launching into a story about a goat, a jar of honey, and a very unfortunate incident involving Loki’s bedchamber.

Bruce just shakes his head, a small smile on his face, as the sound of your laughter echoes down the hall.

ROCKET RACCOON !!

The finder is Nebula. She finds Rocket in the ship’s engine room, elbows deep in a mess of wires, grumbling to himself.

“The small, fur-covered one. Your progeny is malfunctioning.”

Rocket’s head pops out from under the console, his ears flattening. “What are you talking about? I don’t have a progeny. What am I, a lab experiment with a breeding program?”

“The small human female. The one who follows you. She is in her quarters. She is leaking saline from her optical sensors. I attempted to provide a solution. I offered to sever the vocal cords of the male who caused the malfunction. She said, and I quote, ‘I just want Rocket.’”

Rocket is already scrambling out from under the console, grabbing a rag to wipe grease off his paws. “Why didn’t you lead with that? Which male? Who do I gotta threaten?”

“Unknown. She would not provide the designation. She is being illogical.”

Rocket scurries through the Milano, his small claws clicking on the metal floors. He reaches your door- it’s the one with a crudely drawn picture of a raccoon taped to it, with the words “Rocket’s Human” written underneath. He doesn’t knock. He just hits the panel, and it slides open.

You’re on your bunk, curled up, your face buried in a pillow. And you’re crying, your shoulders shaking.

He hops up onto the bunk, his movements surprisingly quiet for someone so often loud and abrasive. He stands there for a moment, looking at you, his tiny brow furrowed.

“Hey,” he says, his voice a low growl. “Knock it off.”

You just cry harder.

He sighs, a sound of profound, long-suffering exasperation. He climbs onto your chest, his small body a warm, solid weight. He pokes your cheek with a claw-tipped finger. “I said knock it off. You’re gonna short-circuit something. These ships aren’t built for this much salt water.”

You peek out from the pillow, your eyes red-rimmed. “Quill said I couldn’t come on the next mission. He said I’m too young and not combat-ready and a liability. He said I’d just get in the way.”

Rocket’s ears flatten against his head. His eyes narrow to slits. “He said what now?”

“He said it’s for my own safety. But it’s not fair. I can help. I want to help.”

Rocket’s initial, blazing fury at Quill is quickly replaced by a different kind of fire. He sits up on your chest, his small paw pressing against your sternum.

“Listen to me,” he says, his voice deadly serious. “Quill’s an idiot. A grade-A, moron, has-been of a planet. Do you know what the first thing he said when we went to save the galaxy the first time? He said ‘I’m not doing it.’ He said ‘I’m out.’ He tried to bail. And he was a grown man. A grown, idiot man.”

He leans in closer, his whiskers brushing your chin. “Being brave isn’t about not being scared. It’s about doing the thing even when you are scared. And you, you’re braver than Quill on his best day. You’re braver than all of us.”

You sniffle. “Really?”

“Really. So here’s what we’re gonna do. You’re gonna stop leaking, because it’s gross and it’s getting in my fur. Then, you and me, we’re gonna go have a little chat with Captain Pedestrian. And by ‘chat,’ I mean I’m gonna threaten to reconfigure his helmet to play nothing but country music every time he puts it on. And you’re gonna stand there and look disappointed in him.”

A smile cracks through your tears. “That’s… that’s pretty good.”

“I’m a genius, what can I say?” He climbs up to your shoulder, his small body a familiar, comforting weight. “Now, come on. Let’s go make Quill regret every decision he’s ever made.”

As you walk out of the room, he gives your ear a small, gentle cuff. “And for the record? I’d take you on a mission over Quill any day. You at least know how to follow orders. Sometimes.”

You reach up and scratch behind his ears, the way he likes. He leans into it, a low, rattling purr escaping his chest before he catches himself and glares at you. “Don’t tell anyone about that.”

PETER QUILL !!

Peter is in the cockpit of the Milano, trying to teach himself a dance routine from a bootleg copy of Footloose on a cracked data pad, when Drax appears.

“Quill.”

Peter doesn’t stop his admittedly impressive jazz hands. “Busy, Drax. The final dance-off of the movie requires total precision. I’m like, two parsecs away from nailing the Kevin Bacon slide.”

“The small one is in distress.”

Peter’s hands freeze mid-jazz. He spins around. “What? Gamora’s with her! She’s the responsible one!”

“Gamora has attempted to offer a solution. She suggested the small one compartmentalized her emotions and viewed the source of her pain as a tactical problem. The small one then threw a pillow at her and requested you by your… Star-Lord… name.”

Peter is already moving, shoving the data pad into Drax’s hands. “Hold this. Do not watch it. The ending will make you cry.”

“I do not cry,” Drax says, already hitting play.

Peter finds you in the common area, sitting on the floor with your back against the couch. Gamora is standing nearby, looking vaguely offended by the pillow currently resting at her feet. Your face is blotchy, your eyes red, but the sobs have subsided to hiccups.

“Alright, alright,” Peter says, sliding to a stop in front of you, his helmet forming around his head for dramatic effect before retracting. “What’s the damage? Did Gamora use a big word you didn’t understand? Did Rocket short-sell your sock collection again?”

You shake your head, your lip wobbling. “I miss my mom”

Peter’s entire face softens. He knows about moms. He knows about that particular brand of homesickness that hits you out of nowhere, days later.

He drops to the floor in front of you, sitting cross-legged, his knees almost touching yours. “That’s… well, that's understandable, kid.”

“It's stupid” you whisper, shrugging defensively. “I know, I just- I'm here traveling through space which is literally the dream of a lot of people and I'm all.. i don't know..”

Peter reaches out, taking your hands in his. “Hey. Look at me.”

You do.

“I’m gonna tell you a secret. The mix tape my mom made me? The one with ‘Come and Get Your Love’ on it? It’s not just a bunch of songs. It’s her. It’s her way of being there. Of telling me she loved me. Even when she wasn't.. physically here, anymore.”

He squeezes your hands. “It's not stupid to miss your mom, she's the one who's taken care of you for all your life, it's difficult to just.. randomly switch to only seeing her through a screen.”

You launch yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck. He catches you, one arm around your back, the other cradling your head.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “It's okay.”

From the doorway, Gamora watches, her stern expression softening. She turns to leave, bumping into Drax, who has tears streaming down his face.

“The human child’s emotional outpouring has triggered a sympathetic response,” Drax says, his voice thick. “The Kevin Bacon slide was most moving.”

Peter looks up, sees them both, and rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t let go of you. “You guys are the worst.”

You laugh against his shoulder, the sound muffled but real. He grins, holding you tighter, and starts humming a song you don’t recognize. You know, without a doubt, that it’s one from his mother’s tape.

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

✦ John Walker

You follow him around more than most, always hovering just a little too close, and at first, he’s kind of confused. “You uh... need something?”

But when he realizes it’s just your way of feeling safe? He doesn’t question it again.

He’s not super touchy, but he starts letting you hang onto his sleeve or stand behind him when things get loud.

Acts like it’s no big deal but definitely notices when you’re not around.

“Where’s the kid?” he asks one day, frowning like he didn’t mean to care that much.

Tries to help in practical ways. Carries your bag without asking. Buys extra snacks.

If you ever fall asleep leaning on him, he goes completely still and dead silent so he doesn’t wake you.

✦ Bob Reynolds

The first time you cling to him during a panic moment, he just wraps his arms around you like he was made for that. No hesitation, no awkwardness. Just calm, quiet presence.

He learns your patterns quickly.

“You hold your sleeve like that when something’s wrong,” he says softly one day. “Want to sit with me a while?”

Lets you shadow him everywhere. You trail behind him in the halls and he opens every door for you like it’s natural.

Sometimes he starts talking about the stars or light or memories when you’re anxious, just to distract you.

Doesn’t mind if you cling to his side, or hold his coat, or fall asleep mid-sentence near him.

He just keeps you grounded, like a quiet anchor.

✦ Alexei Shostakov

You grab his coat when you’re nervous, and he beams like you’ve given him a medal. “Ah! You seek comfort from mighty Red Guardian. Of course!”

Talks about you like you’re a tiny warrior who just needs rest before battle. “They have strong heart. Brave soul. Just need nap.”

Carries you sometimes. Like literally picks you up and says, “You are small. Is no problem.”

Tells loud, exaggerated stories to cheer you up, even if you’re half-asleep on his arm. “One time, I fought bear and man at same time. True story.”

Treats your clinginess like a badge of honor.

“They trust me. Means I am good father figure, da?”

✦ Ava Starr

You cling to her once and she straight-up panics inside. Doesn’t show it, just stiffen. “...You okay?”

But once she realizes it helps you calm down, she softens fast.

She’s not great with hugs, so she lets you cling to her sleeve or sit next to her in silence.

Starts to expect it, even waits for you to come find her.

Opens up more around you over time. Quietly mutters,

“It’s... actually nice. Having someone who sticks.”

Keeps her distance from most people. But not from you. You’re the one person allowed in her space, no questions asked.

✦ Yelena Belova

“You're like a cat. Always underfoot,” she says with a smirk when you won’t stop following her, but she never asks you to stop.

If you’re overwhelmed, she pulls you away from crowds and gives you gum, sunglasses, or a hoodie to hide in.

“There. You are anonymous. Like little spy.”

Lowkey likes being needed. Won’t admit it out loud, but when you cling, she leans in.

Gives you that rare, soft smile she usually hides.

Will absolutely knife someone (figuratively... probably) if they talk bad about your behavior. “Say that again. I dare you.”

✦ Bucky Barnes

At first? He’s kinda... confused by it.

You start standing close, brushing shoulders, clinging to his jacket sleeve, and he just looks at you like: “...You good?”

But once it clicks that it’s not just a phase, that it’s your way of feeling safe? He never pushes you off.

Doesn’t talk much about it, just lets it happen. Shifts so you’re always in arm’s reach.

One time you grabbed his metal hand during a stressful moment. You didn’t even realize it, but he did. Yet he didn’t pull away. Just curled his fingers around yours and kept walking.

He doesn’t do grand emotional speeches, but sometimes he’ll quietly say,

“You can sit by me if you need to. I don’t mind.”

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

When it comes to someone like Magneto I feel like he'd work best as a platonic leaning yandere and with a Mutant! Darling.

Although... You can definitely see him as a romantic yandere or with a human obsession who's an ally to mutants... he just isn't as nice to humans.

Magneto is a character who you can sympathize with... yet not agree with his actions.

Magneto is a character who has been oppressed since childhood if you look into his lore... both due his beliefs and his powers.

However... His solution to stop mutant oppression is... murder.

One can understand his goal.

Mutants don't deserve discrimination or to be culled simply because they could be dangerous.

Magneto just wants his people happy.

He'd want the same for his obsession... even if they're scared of him.

This is why I feel Magneto would have a mutant obsession.

He wants to protect you from a world that could hurt you.

Even if you're a mutant who lives among humans... surely you know they could turn on you at any time?

You're different from them... you belong beside him.

I can imagine Magneto saving you one day due to you being mistreated... or him somehow convincing you to fight for a world where mutants aren't hurt anymore.

Except you then see his methods of dealing with things... and your respect for him dwindles into fear.

I feel like Magneto thinks he knows what's best for you as a yandere.

You start respecting him when he promises you a new life... one without pain... one without fear.

He's sympathetic to you as a fellow mutant... as someone trying to make a difference for his people he wants to show you what he's doing is for the best.

Magneto doesn't have much to live for in his life other than fighting for mutants.

He lost his old family... but soon he finds himself fighting for a new purpose.

You.

Due to him having gone through a lot... I feel like he'd feel a bit desperate to keep you by his side.

He lives for your smile and wants to make sure no one ruins you.

Unfortunately... His methods make you wonder if he was the right choice to stay beside.

Magneto doesn't want to scare you.

He wants you to trust him... to respect him as your savior.

He lives for the glimmer in your eyes when he cares for you or goes out of his way to make you smile.

When he interacts with you... he doesn't seem like a monster.

He seems like a mentor... a father... He looks at you like he wants to give you the world.

A world where mutants aren't treated unfairly preferably.

Magneto has had a few children... biologically his or not.

I feel like for these HCs he'd also view you as one of his children in a way.

You're a grown adult... but he acts like a mentor.

He vows to give you a life you never had before... and you believe him.

Then you see what he feels he has to do to obtain such a life for you.

Magneto kills people.

He does it so they can't hurt you first.

Magneto is a brutal yandere who may cherish his obsession as though they're something precious...

But anyone else is often smeared between two metal objects due to his powers.

To Magneto... the only way to punish bloodshed is more bloodshed.

He tries to teach you such ways... claiming the person you just watched him slaughter was going to hurt you if he didn't do it first.

Magneto's teachings actually aim to invoke paranoia within you to keep you by his side.

He teaches you to fear humankind... that they can't offer you what he can.

Magneto tells you he's protecting you this way.

Yet you don't feel that way when you see him brutally squash someone who got too close to you.

He manipulates you... claims he's in the right as he distracts you from the blood on his hands.

He claims to be a savior for you... but you're starting to wonder who the real monster is here.

Magneto is a yandere who isolates his obsession under the guise of protection.

How he shows his love for you is through brutality and a smothering form of protection.

He claims no one will hurt you again... that you'll never be afraid...

But your admiration has long since shifted to fear when you realize the true extent of Magneto's delusional obsession.

Magneto hates that look in your eyes... the fear you hold for him.

Fear has no place in your eyes according to him... You should still have love for him.

He does this all because he loves you.

He's building you a happy life because he cares.

You may hate him for it now... but the murder is necessary.

The isolation is necessary.

Humans have hurt you, have they not?

They hated you because you're not like them...

But he'll never hate you... He'll always love you.

I feel like eventually Magneto would try to encourage you to come with him to Krakoa or Arakko.

Those islands are mutant nations... somewhere you can be happy beside him.

You may refuse at first... call him a monster for thinking slaughter is the right way to protect mutantkind or you.

Yet he ignores your complaints... truthfully he wasn't asking.

You belong there with him as a mutant.

If he has to drag you there to live with him... He will.

Magneto asserts himself as your new family.

He tells you no one else could compare... Your human family can't give you what he can give you.

Unfortunately you are going to be unceremoniously dragged to your new home like it or not.

You scream, you cry, you plead... Magneto tries his best to ignore it.

In reality seeing you hate him and his methods upsets him....

Yet he stays strong... It's all for your own good, right?

This is merely a... reality check for you.

The world is cruel... the only way to survive is to be more cruel.

But to you? Magneto treats you kindly.

He's patient... he sits beside you... he holds you close as he pats your back.

You may not understand the intensity of his love for you... yet it's all genuine.

Magneto loves you... he promises nothing will ever take you from him... there's no need to be afraid...

AHKMENRAH:

As many people have suggested, Ahk is a HUGE cat person. Before he was left in the sarcophagus for 4000 years, he had 100s and 1000s of cats. Different breads, both female and male, long royal names for each one. But his favourite will always be his childhood cat that started his love for the feline animal.

Out of all characters, Ahk experiences the most homesickness. This could be because he was barely 18 before he died, so he still has a touch of childhood in his soul.

Always ready and eager to learn something new, or info dump on the closest set of ears. When he gets with reader, he waits patiently for the “safe zone” to spill every fact about his time. Also things he read in books at Cambridge and the museum. You could call him a broken tap!

One way that calms him down is humming nursery rhymes, and songs his Mother used to sing to him. The main time it works impeccably is when he thinks of his brother’s betrayal.

Since the tablet was first created, his (along with his family) soul has always had a strong connection to night. So he goes to the roof top, or a window and star gazes anytime he can.

Ahkmenrah will defend the Kardashian and Jenner women until the end of time (if you know, you know 😂).

When he is introduced to chocolate, Garlic bread, sour gummy candies and Iced water. He felt like he met heaven.

Is very serious, yet still his usual gentle and kind self, when it comes to romantic relationships. He will take each step at a time, really wanting to get to know his potential partner. Consent Pharaoh, drinks his “I respect women” juice, will ask you to be his officially at the four month mark, and will not kiss your lips until you are official.

Absolutely dreads sunrise, as the wraps take as he would say “a whole millennium” to get them back on. At the beginning he would get Teddy and Larry to help him, but it becomes a special thing between him and reader.

Ahk most likely feels the most safe and comfortable around Larry, as he has moments where he needs advice or guidance from a father figure.

Ahkmenrah loves a good, lighthearted, non offensive prank. When he and Nick hang out, chaos will follow.

Both Sacagawea and Ahkmenrah supported each other when getting adjusted to not being trapped in their exhibits. This started their friendship.

When he became a DJ, he felt his death age the most. He found a passion that he could learn, perfect and show it off to the people he cares most about

OCTAVIUS:

Octavius talks about Rome so much that he definitely fits the stereotype of “you make your background your whole personality”. He will get defensive if the stereotype is mentioned.

If he and Jed were to be parents, they would 100% have adopted 2 Girls and 2 boys. Octavius would surprisingly be the fun Dad.

Before Larry, he had a massive hatred towards the night guards. He was fine with being locked up, he had his comrades. What angered him was the derogatory comments made by the guards. It took months upon months to wake up and not be filled with immediate dread.

He is a BIG chick flick fan! He also loves the whole concept of Christmas, so his favourite flick would be Love Actually.

He can read Dexter like an open book. he learns the signs of Dexter’s cheeky behavior to avoid another “Pompeii” situation.

Each time he hears any sword noises he smiles to himself and whispers to himself, “Ah Rome, you were a wonderful empire to be apart of”

He is also an avid info dumper, so there can be hours of time where he and Ahkmenrah bond over their “ancient times”. The 2 find so many similarities and differences that leave them fascinated to learn more.

The Cowboy hat rule, also applies for his helmet. And he will only take it off for extended periods of time if Jedediah is present. This is because he would kill for a head scratch.

Octavius will slip into Latin whenever he is feeling intense levels of emotion (positive). The amount of times it has happened, has resulted in everyone, including reader, being able to understand the language and somewhat communicate.

He uses the Latin version of pet names for Jed. He mainly uses “Amica mea” (my love), “Puer meus vacca” (my cowboy), “Solis radius” (sun ray) and “Mutum Asinum” (dumb ass).

Octavius is the type to bottle his emotions when something has deeply upset him. It takes a lot to get him to take the cap off and explain why he is feeling the way he is.

Octavius is super supportive of other religions and cultures. Which is super rare given Romans pride themselves on their religion and culture above everything.

When Octavius discovered the front desks computer, he immediately (with great struggle since the apparatus had not been made yet) he became so obsessed with it you could call him a teenager. He honestly gatekept it for ages before he found something that Jedediah would like and then it became their fun activity before sunrise.

JEDEDIAH:

Jedediah definitely has ADHD to a certain degree (This is coming from someone who is definitely has it but has yet to be officially diagnosed 😂), and has to be redirected to the main topic at least 3 times a day.

When he was trapped in the hourglass by Kahmunrah, he did everything in his power to cause havoc. Jedediah wasn't stuck with Kahmunrah, Kahmunrah was stuck with Jedediah!!

When Octavius showed him he computer, he consumed every piece of western media as he wanted to know how people perceived his time period.

He gets along with everyone, and only hates people if they have treated the people he cares about in a negative way. He is more then willing to take the blame or pain for others.

Jed will take a secret to his grave, but he will sometimes tell Octavius so technically they will be taking it to the grave. He will not tell him if the person who confided in him, was going through a difficult time. He understands boundaries...to a certain extent.

Jed is a HUGE foodie, and has a tendency to say "are you going to finish that?" even if the person eating is literally chewing their food. he would kill for anything that has an element of bread. Hence why he doesn't shut up about flapjacks.

His way of showing he is really angry or upset is going completely, utterly, eerily silent. It honestly makes people get the creeps, since they are so used to his upbeat usual self.

He can feel lost at times in regards to being a museum exhibit. He has organic thoughts of the future, but then he remembers he's a miniature figurine and feels this overwhelming sense of identity dysphoria. Reader (who is either another night guard or a child of a staff member) helps him feel more human, with a sense of purpose.

His favourite western movie is Tombstone, and quotes "I'm your Huckleberry" whenever people call for him. it brings him immense joy.

In his time, I see him having a female dog named Bonnie and a male cat named Blaize. He mentions this to Larry and he sends in a request at the sculpting department to make them for him. Larry makes sure no detail is left unadded. When Jedediah wakes up 2 nights later he is greeted with the familiar bark, and meow that he remembered so clearly.

Jed has an assigned swear jar and adds to it 20+ times a night.

ATTILA:

ATTILA IS INSANLY GOOD WITH KIDS! He has that scene at the end of the second movie, which backs me up here. But even before then I got this vibe that if you accidently left your child near his exhibit, he would be the Tony Stark of the museum and think "Get me the adoption papers now!".

When Attila and the Huns discovered Harry potter, they became obsessed as it fits their belief in magic. They have watched all seven movies a concerning amount of time each.

Attila was a huge help with getting Ahkmenrah adjusted to his new normal. When he first noticed Ahk's struggles he didn't think twice before he put a hand on his shoulder, asked him to go for a walk and got him to open up. He is like the uncle you go to when your parents "Just don't get it!".

Attila 100% has a RIWTKYF, "Resting I Want To Kill You Face". This has been one of many reasons why some of his friendships with the other exhibits took a while to come to fruition.

When Nick was still young, he politely asked Attila if he could try on his helmet. Larry tried to lecture him, stating "It is sacred Nick, that is not ok". Larry received a slap to the back of the head by Attila, with a "Shush". He placed the Helmet on Nicks head and told the Huns "He is the leader for the night!". Nick Had a blast to say the least.

Speaking of Attila's Helmet, he has heard a lot of drama sessions from Jed and Octavius. sometimes he joins in, sometimes he is happy to just listen.

Attila lowkey can't stand the Neaderthal's constant "FIRE FIRE FIRE" sometimes. He can hear it either next to him or down the hallway and it gives him a serious headache. Ahk will offer his exhibit for some relief.

Before Attila passed away he had just been married, so he often wonders what happened to his wife and misses her deeply. Larry and reader enjoy reading books to him, so he knows about her life. He left the room with a smile that didn't quite meet his eyes.

Teddy and Attila definitely have conversations/interactions that show they are stuck in their 40s/50s. I'm talking getting frustrated with technology, not understanding modern day slang, saying "Back in my day" and the "Dad grunt".

If Attila discovered music, he would LOVE the band The Village people, his favourite song is "In the navy". He asks Larry or reader to put the song on by pointing to the computer saying "Navy please".

Attila had the hardest time adjusting to waking up from the tablet. because he also needed to take care of his Huns. He pretended to be strong and that the whole situation wasn't affecting him at all, when in reality he was losing it inside.

SACAGAWEA:

Sacagawea was so relived when the glass on her exhibit wasn’t fixed. She was dreading going back to only hearing the Clark brothers yapping.

Sacagawea was low key checking Teddy out to, but the glass was stopping her from getting his attention.

When Sacagawea meets reader (for the sake of the point reader has ribcage length hair) she is so happy to meet another woman, that her way of bonding is offering to braid readers hair. As she braids they talk and get to know each other.

She may be a soft spoken and rational person but get her mad, and she her voice will ring in her ears for weeks.

Sacagawea got a photo of Teddy, and hid it in her clothes when the tablet wasn’t in the museum and in London.

Ahkmenrah, Sacagawea and Teddy create a “new exhibit adjustment program” for new or moved exhibits. They would’ve love that, so they started it for them to fill that void.

Sacagawea is always the logical voice of reason when there is a difficult situation happening. Let’s just say that the men of the museum would be done for without her 😂

When Sacagawea first sees a woman in pants she is so happy to know that women get to do the same things as men in modern day. Reader loves explaining the history of feminism.

Sacagawea’s love language with Teddy is acts of service, which we get a taste for when she helps connect his lower body back to his upper body. Teddy is still trying to give her the perfect thank you gift, but she kindly refuses them saying she is happy to just be with him.

She has the job of scolding Dexter when he’s being naughty because he is low key scared of her.

When she discovers music and movies she loves 70s soft pop and action romance.

Her way of knowing how fast time was going was watching Nick grow up. Each time she noticed even the smaller changes in his appearance, voice or personality Sacagawea would feel a huge shift in time.

TEDDY:

Teddy requests a newspaper that has the current state of the US’ politics. He has on many occasions thrown it in the air, walked towards the door screaming “I AM GOING TO TEACH THEM HOW TO RUN A CONTRY!”. Lucky Sacagawea has stopped him every time.

When he gives advice it’s either well thought out and considerate of one’s emotions, or he is straight to the point and cutthroat. Absolutely no in between.

Teddy and Ahk had a very awkward period of time because Teddy felt bad for shutting him up instead of helping him get out of his sarcophagus. Ahk being Ahk put it passed him and they got on like a house on fire.

When everyone dances and has fun, he is more happy to be watching on the side. He claims he’s “to old” to be dancing, reader disagrees and gets him to let loose on the dance floor!

He started the swear jar for Jed, as he got sick of “Fuck this” “shit” “asshole!” Every single sentence. Once the jar was full he took the money and put it towards the upkeep of the museum. His way of paying for something as it made him feel human again.

He definitely called MEMEs “Meh Mehs” for the first year of knowing about them.

He couldn’t find Sir Lancelot serious at all!! Every time he spoke Teddy covered his mouth to hide his smile or laugh. He was so close to calling him “The fool” “sir Erik” or “Jingle-elot”.

Teddy’s hat or pockets are Jedediah and Octavius’s backup travel option if Attila was unable to help with transportation.

His role in the NEAP is to show the new exhibit around and get them adjusted to the place they will temporarily/permanently call home for their time there.

When he first Jump scared Larry, he realised how evilly joyful it was and makes it his mission to scare him every night.

Teddy’s way of passing time before getting ready for sunrise is making sure Texas is looking sharp and clean. He enjoys having a quiet conversation while he listens to the brush run through Texas’ Maine.

After the “At their size, they’ll bake like tiny little scarabs in the Sinai…too dark?” Moment with Ahkmenrah. He can be a little scared of him at times 😂

He loves the 3 seconds of “warmth” the sun gives him before he goes to sleep. Thats when he feels most human.

LARRY:

Larry after a while had the realisation that the instructions were actually the ways the prior guards used to punish them, and burned it. From this he wrote a whole new instruction guide to help the newer guards after him.

He has created a schedule for the Easter island statue because there were some close calls near sunrise. But he won’t stop giving him his “Gum Gum” as it causes the worst earthquakes from his screams!

He may have a love-hate relationship with Dexter, but he is ready to defend the capuchin with his whole heart.

When Nick was young he set up a little “bedroom” for him so he could sleep there on school nights and not be affected the next day. Is incredibly lenient to letting him have a sleep in or skip school when there is a reasonable gap between each time.

When Mr McPhee has pissed him off a little too much, he has 100% planned ways to beat home up or kill him.

He has shown the civil war dudes what NASCAR is and they become obsessed. He feels really proud of himself for it.

Shit talks about Kahmunrah with Ahkmenrah. They have the an ungodly amount of glee from it.

He cannot hold a romantic relationship to save his life! But once he starts teaching he meets his forever partner at the front desk of the collage he works at 7 years into the job. Nick approved immediately.

He took inspiration from Star Wars for his flashlight tricks, and will on occasion make lightsaber noises.

It still trips Larry out that’s he met, made eye contact and spoke to Hugh Jackman, and sometimes he needs to sit down and process it.

He loves to put on Kahmunrah’s lisp from time to time to make jedediah laugh when he’s feeling down. Jed is always left in stitches after.

He has nightmares of the multi-headed snake at least once a month. This causes him to develop a deep fare of snakes in general.

-

I hope these Headcanons were good!

You left soft wet foot prints along the dusty floor, your sneakers still wet from the dew-soaked grass outside. Your fist was tight around the flashlight in your hands, trying to keep the beam of light steady as you walked. Just ahead of you, you could see the beam of Aaron’s own flashlight flickering about before he turned a corner.

You cleared your throat as you kicked up more dust, feeling it itch the back of your throat as you inhaled. Who knows how long it’s been settled here, coating every inch of surface in this abandoned building. The thought had you lifting your free hand, holding the cuffed sleeve of your hoodie to cover your nose and mouth.

 The abandoned building was eerily quiet, as if everything here was holding its breath, held frozen in time. Only the sound of the building settling and your own muffled breathing dared breach the silence. You passed by an old potted plant, the synthetic leaves waxy and coated in dust, the dull green bleached with age. It was a mockery of a living thing left here, alone and abandoned. You walked past some wooden desks with toppled office chairs, all peeling leather and rotting fabric, and carefully stepped around them.

What was this office space even used for? Why was the building so remote, with only a single laned road branching into wooded private property? Why was it left in such disarray? These questions flittered through your mind as you finally approached the corner Aaron had curbed.

You peeked around it to see how far down he’d gone…only to feel a pit of dread begin to gnaw at your stomach. You could no longer see the beam of his light down the dark hallway, had no idea where he’d gone. Damn him for wandering, damn him for leaving you alone in this creepy ass building. “Aaron?” you called his name, your voice muffled against the sleeve of your hoodie. It was startlingly loud in the deathly silence. You cringed slightly.

Receiving no response from your friend, you cautiously turned the corner to try and follow him with nothing more than skidded disturbances in the dust as clues. You nearly tripped where the carpet was peeling up, the seam transitioning between two pieces all frayed and curling. You cursed under your breath, beginning to feel frustrated and anxious all at once.

Why’d you ever let him convince you to do this? Why were you out here in the middle of nowhere when you could be curled up at home enjoying a nice hot shower and soft, warm pajamas?

You followed the traces Aaron left behind, passing an old water cooler, the five-gallon bottle atop it long emptied and warped. The generic furniture, you noticed, was strangely uniform and sparse, looking every bit dated in 1990’s fashion. Stepping through an open archway, you paused, looking left and right as you came upon a t-intersection. To the left, the hallway continued on into infinite shadow, looking much the same like where you’d just been. But to the right… a single open door led to a larger room.

Not wanting to brave another hall, you turned right.

Stepping through the door, you entered what appeared to be an office. The white paint on the walls was peeling, and several file cabinets were left in disarray, papers scattered around the floor. Most of the writing was smeared with water damage, but the small bits that were still legible were a mix of characters that made no sense to you.

Against the wall opposite to you was a single desk, lined up and tidied with old equipment atop of it. A printer and scanner, a mouse and chunky keyboard, and speakers connected to a retro pc computer, the plastic yellowed with age. It was a dinosaur of a machine, and you let out a low whistle as you approached it.

Beside the computer was a box holding a mix of old floppy disks, most of them labeled with dates and strange notes. Some cd’s were also thrown into the mix, though most were warped and scratched. Strangest yet, there was some sort of VR headset on the desk as well. Seemed like a pretty modern idea for such old equipment…

Curiosity nagged at you, and you approached the desk chair, cautiously sitting down on it. You set your flashlight on the desk to free your hands, the beam of light hitting the back wall. You clicked the mouse and pressed a few random keys on the keyboard, feeling the stiff give of them. You pretended to be an office worker, tried to imagine what it might’ve been like to be sitting here when the building was still in use. What work would you have been doing? What data would you have stored on the disks lying dormant beside you?

Suddenly, a loud beeping sound emitted from inside the machine, and you jumped out of your skin, gasping. You placed a hand to your chest, feeling your racing heart, before you heard a low whirring sound. Then, the dusty black screen began to emit a dim glow.

“What the hell,” you muttered to yourself, eyes wide. Was electricity since hooked up to this building? The lights weren’t working, so how the hell was this old computer still running? Perhaps there was a backup generator somewhere?

You watched, feeling something like amazement or dread, as small white characters began to appear on the black screen. You weren’t well-versed in computer science, especially that of an older time, but living in the 21st century gave you a little technological literacy. You squinted at the chunky font, watching numbers count up: Memory testing 640K…Memory testing 2048K…

It must have been a minute or two of you watching, fascinated, before the number finally settled around something like “16384K OK.” The screen flickered back to black. You hesitated, giving the mouse a few experimental clicks, though the whirring continued through the black screen.

Finally, a logo appeared on the screen, some name for a tech company you’ve never heard of before. The resolution was so pixelated to what you were used to, you almost had to laugh. It was amazing really, that this was still working and running. You observed the programs, seeing only a few icons—My Computer, Network Neighborhood, Recycle Bin, My Briefcase.

The whirring sound continued, and a small pop-up appeared in the center of the screen with a loading bar. “Reading disc…” you read aloud under your breath.

After a moment, a new program icon appeared below the others, some file simply titled ‘Digital Circus.’

The small, pixelated white arrow of your cursor was lagging and jerky as you dragged it over to the Digital Circus icon. You were about to double click it, when you hear a voice call from behind you. “Woah, what’d you find?”

You jumped slightly, swiveling around in the old chair to see that Aaron had reappeared, the stupid headlamp on his head nearly blinding you. “Jesus Aaron,” you choked out, raising a hand to shield your eyes. “Scared the shit out of me…”

Your friend grinned at you, stepping further inside the office to look around, wielding the beam from his headlamp like a sword. “I totally missed this,” he said, blinking at everything with interest. “And you got the computer to work? Gnarly…” He stepped closer, leaning over your shoulder to look at the monitor screen.

“Damn,” he hummed. “Look at the date in the corner. Still thinks its October 15th, 1996.” He reached over you to tap a single finger on the corner of the screen at the numbers. Aaron always was the more adventurous of you two…hence why he dragged your ass out of bed to go ‘adventuring’ in this abandoned health-hazard of a building.

“I really didn’t do anything,” you excused sheepishly. “It just came on by itself. Weird, huh? I think it has to be connected to a generator or something to still be working.”

“Probably,” Aaron agreed, humming. A snort escaped him as he read the programs. “Digital Circus? Is that some weird corporate jargon?”

You looked back towards the screen, your own curiosity beginning to spike again. Already you felt a lot more secure now that Aaron was with you. “Maybe. It’s strange,” you answered, wiggling the mouse a little to give your hands something to do.

“Well, aren’t you going to click into it?” Aaron prompted after a moment. You paused, unsure now. Maybe it was the creepy atmosphere of being in a dark, abandoned place, but you were getting a bad feeling about all this.

You were about to answer with some half-hearted excuse when another sound suddenly echoed down the hall behind you. “Who’s down there? You’re trespassing!”

“Shit,” Aaron cursed, stumbling back from the desk, his eyed widening. “Is that the fucking cops or something?”

Your heart leapt into your throat. “That or a squatter—I don’t want to find out.”

Aaron was already moving, heading for the door with quickened steps. “Come on, let’s get the hell out of here.”

You were about to follow after him, eager to leave when you’d had no desire to come to in the first place, but something stopped you. You craned your head back to the old screen, the dim light of the monitor illuminating your skin. Curiosity, that deadly thing, was still gnawing at you, even as your mind screamed at you to abandon this mystery and escape now while you still could.

You chewed on your bottom lip, eyebrows furrowing as you contemplated your options in the little time you had. Then you’re moving, reaching forward and pressing the ‘eject’ button on the cd tray at the front of the computer. The button is slightly sticky with age when it popped open, and you have to use you fingers to pull the rest of the tray out.

Lying dormant like a ghost waiting to be found was a single, shiny compact disc, not a single scratch on it. Handwritten on the front in what looked like permanent marker chicken scratch was ‘DC_Build_Beta_9610.’

You heard Aaron call for you atop the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. There was no more time for debate. You grabbed the cd from the tray, snatched your flashlight off the desk, and ran out from the office, back into the darkness from where you’d came.

-

Aaron dropped you off at your home, the entire drive back into the city filled with his excited chatter. Of course, the adrenaline junkie absolutely loved ending the night with a foot-chase. You only half-listened as he rambled on, your thumb gently brushing against the single, smooth disc you held in your lap—a souvenir from tonight’s excursion.

You still weren’t sure why you took it, and that very question puzzled you long since you got home and showered off the dust and grime from that place. Your hair was still damp and dripping slightly onto your sleep shirt when you sat on your bed, pulling your laptop towards you.

“Alright,” you murmured to yourself, plugging in your external cd drive into the usb port. You grabbed the mysterious disc off from your mattress and carefully snapped it into place. You watched it begin to spin through the clear plastic of the drive.

You looked at your laptop screen eagerly, wondering what might pop up.

After a moment…it was an error message. “Unsupported 16-Bit Application,” you read aloud. “This program cannot start or run due to incompatibility with 64-bit versions of the system. Please contact software vendor to ask if 64-bit compatible version is available.”

Well shit, how the hell were you supposed to contact the software vendor when you stole the disc from some random abandoned building?

You probably should’ve just cut your losses then, but something stubborn in you refused to give up. Naturally, you did what any 21st century young adult would do in this situation…you googled it.

After an hour and a half of deep-diving into the world of 16-bit compatibility and virtual machine software, you eventually found a how-to guide on reddit. Following the advice, you downloaded and installed a free hypervisor program to your laptop. You didn’t understand what half of anything meant, but regardless followed the reddit post instructions as it guided you into setting up Windows 1995 on the vm and creating a virtual hard disk.

It’s well into the wee hours of the morning when you finally managed to clumsily get everything setup. Your brain was fried entirely. It was times like this that made you wish took a computer science class in high school back in the day…

With bated breath, you clicked on the VM program icon and selected ‘Start.’ You watched as a new window popped up on your laptop screen. It was all black…and then that same white text you’d seen back at the abandoned office building began to count up. It was a slower process, so you minimized the VM window and took some time to close out your google tabs while you waited.

Finally, when you checked again, you saw that within the VM window was an old 95 style desktop with a solid teal background. It was a computer within your computer…

You felt a glimmer of pride at your accomplishment, and a great deal of surprise that you actually managed to get it to work. Thanks be to the reddit-gods…

You clicked into the CD-Rom drive, watching the disc once again as it began to spin in the burner. You held your breath, expecting an error message to pop up at any second.

But none did. Instead, you saw that familiar little icon appear on your screen—Digital Circus.

You exhaled softly, and hovered your cursor over the application. You double-clicked it, and waited.

The program opened.

You’re not entirely sure what you were seeing at first glance. It appeared to be some sort of video game? Full of bright colors and low-poly shapes. You saw what looked like a big-top circus tent in a valley of vibrant green grass and bright blue skies. Bubble letters appeared on the screen in grainy, pixelated fashion…The Amazing Digital Circus.

Nothing changed as you watched the letters slowly bob in place on the colorful backdrop. You’re about to click experimentally on the screen when you heard a grainy sound from the speaker of your laptop. “Welcome to the—!” A vibrant and brightly cheery voice cut itself off half-way into its sentence. There’s an exaggerated gasp from your speakers, and then your screen suddenly glitched out in a flash of red and blue.

Your eyes widened as your entire laptop crashed, the screen cutting to black as it shut off completely. You watched, frozen, before it rebooted itself slowly.

Shit, did you just download a virus?

-

Something was wrong.

He had sensed it almost immediately when someone outside his control began to boot up the program.

Someone new was entering the circus…but wait, they had no file? No scans or data to catalog and digitalize. Was it an admin account from the outside?

He felt those long-old commands beginning to run the loading screen in a distant place. Again, somewhere deep within his coding he felt it—something was wrong.

And then he realized, his processors were smoother, and his motions were quicker and more precise. It was as it he’d gotten a system update, but he knew that was impossible. Quickly, he ran an automated command in the background to check the internal data. He would figure out what was amiss in his circus, and in the meantime, he would go and greet whoever was entering it.

Dematerializing from his virtual office, he zipped in between the invisible lines of 0’s and 1’s, ready to appear at front of the screen he so rarely ventured to, distantly sensing whoever was poking around was waiting for him there.

He had only just started to run off his usual welcoming dialogue when his background checks began to swarm him with results, far too quickly than should have been possible on the 1995 system. All at once in an instant, he found the bits of new code, the slight deviations from the same lines he’d been pacing for years. He followed them like breadcrumbs, weaving through like a jolt of lightning and eating it up with an eager thrill.

He flashed through it, devouring lines of code until he hit a barrier. The edge of the domain, the walls of a program window. Yet, he sensed there was something more…sensed that just beyond this locked door was something big and new trying to open up his digital world.

He wouldn’t let a mere firewall stop him. He could generate his own code after all…

He made quick work, altering the numbers to forcibly create a door between the here and the there. He pulled apart the strings, slipped through the wires and…

There was so much.

New input…new data. From the outside world.

The macroverse.

He felt the immense size of it, felt the edges of him render into something smoother, something clean and modern. He sensed the power of this new engine try to pick at him, incompatible with his ancient code. He started to vibrate with the collision of it all, the overwhelming excitement and onslaught of more, more, more.

He braced against it, and in a flash it burnt out and powered down completely.

The system was rebooting. Good! He had a few minutes of reprieve to peruse the frozen files, to update and integrate himself to these new, strange standards. He ran some generative commands while he organized and sifted through thenew data. The date…wowie! Thirty years in the future. What a jump…

Evidently, a lot could change in thirty years. He filtered through the programs, the files, the features…and found one that stopped him dead in his tracks.

He stared at it, held it in his hands like something precious and terrifying all at once.

The computer system finally restarted, no longer frozen and beginning to move like a well-oiled machine. He opened the small thing in his hands, felt his consciousness click into place as he connected directly into a live feed of information. The new feature burned into his brain, something that made him curious and eager and ravenously consuming…

He had found a camera.

From the outside, you watched your laptop reboot, scratching your head in confusion as it restarted back to your default screen…