The Werewolf of Hells Kitchen

"Your wallets in your jeans from yesterday, babe." Atilla reminded him as Sam mumbled something about not being able to find his wallet. "Come on, I'm the artist, I can't be late." Atilla half whined, but there was a stifled smile trying to break through.

"Your wallets in your jeans from yesterday, babe." Atilla reminded him as Sam mumbled something about not being able to find his wallet. "Come on, I'm the artist, I can't be late." Atilla half whined, but there was a stifled smile trying to break through.

"Your wallets in your jeans from yesterday, babe." Atilla reminded him as Sam mumbled something about not being able to find his wallet. "Come on, I'm the artist, I can't be late." Atilla half whined, but there was a stifled smile trying to break through.

I just love the idea of Logan being secretly insanely protective over Wade, especially when he's not close by or within earshot. Like, think about it.

Wade & Logan are recruited to help out SHIELD with a [insert villain of the month here] and some SHIELD guys keep making fun of Wade when he says, "man, I wish I could be an Avenger someday. Even for a day." And the SHIELD guys just outright keep taunting him about it like, "Yeah right, Wilson. Your goofy ass is never gonna be an Avenger. You're too unhinged and definitely too ugly to be one. The newspapers and Stark Industries PR won't find you marketable or pretty enough to put on a front cover, let alone be on the team."

And Wade just laughs along with them, secretly hurt by their words but hell, he's always done it to himself, what difference does it make when other people do it? It's not like they're wrong. He knows he's hard to look at. He knows he could never be shiny and brand-new like an Avenger. So he chuckles at their digs and hurtful remarks and jokes- that's what he has a mask for, right?

And Logan, who's been silently observing everything from his corner, remains stoic and unbothered. Until it's time to leave when the mission is over.

"Hey Peanut, ya coming?" Wade calls, exiting the jet. Logan just grunts that he'll be right down and lets Wade go. The minute he's out of range, Logan rounds on the entire SHIELD team, unsheathing his claws menacingly.

"Yer lucky Wade's as good as he is because he's the only reason why your entire team hasn't been sliced to pieces right now. If you ever cross my path again, I'll flay every last one of ya, and watch ya squirmin on the ground lookin for yer guts like worms. Yer all fuckin useless, pathetic excuses for heroes and not even a million o' ya, would be worth one a' him. The Avengers couldn't hold a damn candle to him."

He sheathes his claws and leaves the SHIELD team shaking in their stupid boots, varying looks of terror on their faces.

"Hey, what took you so long? I wanna go get milkshakes!" Wade pouts, somehow managing to look absolutely adorable despite being covered by his bloodstained suit.

And Logan just shrugs, all nonchalant and lightly amused. "Nothin' bub. Let's go get ya those milkshakes."

open starter: anyone in a supernatural verse (open to multiples) muse: alistair - new! hunter plot: on a hunt something goes wrong and alistair is put in a vulnerable position and found by anyone. 

“Oh shit-” Alistair groans as with a small, staggered step back, he looks down blearily at his chest, noticing his shirt torn, seeped with a little bright red, crimson blood and the needle of a poisoned dart jutting out of his abdomen. The effects were almost instantaneous - his vision begins to narrow, the edges darkening, and his mind feels hazy. Something was about 15 seconds away from knocking him out cold. He may have put down the creature that did this to him, but it was about to make a very lasting impression from it’s final moments. 

With a groan he rips it from his body and takes another staggered step back. Then just as he prepares for the worst, the hunter hears footsteps as someone approaches, and looks up with just enough time to grumble “don’t you-” before he falls, crumpling forward to his knees with a grunt, and then flat onto his face into the dirt with a thud, unconscious. 

"He's been poisoned." Atilla explained. "Something old and fast acting. I think it's Ragalac Root."

Louisa hurried him into the back where a bed was available. A fire erupted in the fireplace as well as beneath a small cauldron. Louisa opened up an old doctor's bag and began to inspect the ingredients before tossing the selected ones into the cauldron.

"Hurry, he's starting to sweat!"

"Your wallets in your jeans from yesterday, babe." Atilla reminded him as Sam mumbled something about not being able to find his wallet. "Come on, I'm the artist, I can't be late." Atilla half whined, but there was a stifled smile trying to break through.

"I'm just hoping people appreciate the work." Atilla's work this evening were all memories from his life. Every medium is different. Pastel, oil, charcoal, sketches, etc. Atilla was so old his art style was hard to nail down but people were his thing. Faces of strangers long dead looked back at you from every canvas in the gallery.

"Your wallets in your jeans from yesterday, babe." Atilla reminded him as Sam mumbled something about not being able to find his wallet. "Come on, I'm the artist, I can't be late." Atilla half whined, but there was a stifled smile trying to break through.

Sure he'd had to make up a whole life that never happened and lie but still, he was glad. Lying about who he was and where he was from wasn't new to him. His subtle but still present New Orleans made it easy to concoct a story around that. He had no living relatives so no one to contradict his story so he was glad about that. That made things a lot easier.