You sat in the grand hall of the House of X, the weight of Krakoa’s future pressing down on your shoulders as you worked through the exhausting task of drafting its first laws. The living structure of the island whispered and pulsed around you, a reminder that this was no ordinary government—you were carving out the future of mutantkind itself.

Beside you, lounging like he didn’t have a care in the world, was Kurt Wagner—Nightcrawler. He wasn’t just another mutant in the room. He was your best friend. The kind of friend who could either offer deep, soul-searching wisdom or make you question every life choice you’d ever made in a matter of seconds.

As you scribbled down another proposed rule, Kurt hummed thoughtfully, his golden eyes flicking over the parchment. Then, out of nowhere, he grinned—a wicked, almost impish grin that told you something ridiculous was about to come out of his mouth.

"We need to make more mutants."

You froze, pen hovering mid-word.

Did he just—?

Slowly, you turned to face him. His tail curled playfully behind him, his sharp canines flashing in amusement. He knew exactly what he just said.

"Kurt," you started, already exasperated.

He raised his hands in mock innocence. "What? It is a reasonable law, ja? Mutants are the future!"

"You’re literally suggesting enforced baby-making."

"Nein, nein! Not enforced—encouraged! Inspired! A passionate call to arms… or rather, to beds." His expression was utterly unrepentant.

You groaned, dropping your head into your hands. This is why we can’t have nice things.