Disclaimer: I don't own any rights to either the Xmen or LOFT franchise.

Summary: Alicia Austin; the sarcastic, kung fu fire mutant who aspires to become Deapool's official sidekick, has fucked up. After being kicked out of the Xmen for being reckless and slightly satanical, she wakes up from a self-pity LOFT movie marathon to find herself in the real Middle Earth dimension. She finds friends in the Fellowship, and takes up the mantle of 'hero' again. But even with a new calling, her companions are wary of her fiery temper, and her childish attitude to being in a war, not to mention her odd fascination with the dark forces…

Chapter 1

…"Alicia."

."Aliciaaaaaa."

"ALICIA!"

"What! What happened who's attacking I swear on Logan's bike that I didn't do it-"

"We know, this is nothing to do with-"

"-I swear to god its Bobby's fault, he said the smell would be gone by now-"

"We'll talk about that later, but now we-"

"I know Wade's been calling non stop but I gave him the landline number instead of my mobiles'-"

"ALICIA!" Scott Summers yells, shaking my head in his hands, "JUST SHUT UP AND LISTEN."

"….Sorryyyyy" I drag out the word and do my best abandoned puppy impression, pout and all. Scott seems pissed, not like the time Bobby and I hung condoms all around the danger room and locked him in with Jean; he kinda looks like he's about to throw his hands in the air. I snigger at the thought of Scott getting all sassy and saying 'ain't nobody got time for dat!'.

"I swear to god we should've let you train with SHIELD, Alicia, at least Fury seems to be able to control you."

"Well duhhhhh, he's like a clone of Samuel L Jackson. People like that deserve to be in power and respected and stuff due to their level of awesomeness!"

I finally take in my surroundings arising from a lethargic afternoon nap in the common room couch. Scott, Kurt, Jean, Ororo, Bobby… well everyone actually, is all suited up and ready to go. I leap up, promising to be down in a sec, and change faster than a chameleon, which I promise you is no small feat for a latex/Kevlar suit. Probably the best part of the job, looking like goddamn Cassandra Cain (AKA Batgirl). It's a full on black catsuit, tight and ending at my wrists, ankles and half way up my neck, tracing my muscles and curves; a black plated belt that's attached to the suit hangs on my voluptuous hips coquettishly, with mini pouches and a hidden compartment behind the yellow 'X' buckle, admittedly only used for a pink lipstick and hair bands; a concave 'X' crosses in between my breasts; military style combat boots adorn my feet, making me feel like a badass Avril Lavigne; a bomber jacket hangs off of me with yellow detailing and a hidden comlink 'X' badge on the right breast. No guess which mutant team I'm from – the Avengers!

…I'm joking. *Badum kah*.

After a few seconds to prim and pose in the mirror and throw my derrière length, thick brown curls into a painfully tight high ponytail; I sprint downstairs and jam to my own rendition of 'Hips Don't Lie', only to stumble and glide gracefully down the last part of the staircase on my ass, landing in a pile at Scott's feet. Oh he does not look happy at allllllllllll.

"Alicia."

"Sorry, she's out, please leave a message after th-"

"Shut up." He growls.

"Okie dokieeeeee." I sing. Even when I get up to my full 5'10" height, I still feel small with my tail between my legs, and everyone staring at me. I shirk it off with a lopsided smirk and lay a hand on my hip. Fake it till you make it, and all that shit. But even Bobby, my partner in pranking crime, Mr 'Icaneat40burittosandstillbehungryformore', (who really can't control his stomach btw), is giving me this condescending look that guardians give when they see your report card.

Oh shit Scott's talking. He pinches the skin between his eyebrows and sighs heavily, reminding me of a prissy Captain Kirk. "Listen, I probably should've mentioned this before you woke up, but you're not coming with us Alicia." Ok I don't think I heard that right... "I've decided you need a time out on all further assignments until you can cooperate with the team better, so you're sitting this one out."

I make this 'pfttttttt' noise like a French cat, or Remy LeBeau for that matter. "You and whose army Shades?"

"Are you being serious? You're not even going to learn from this are you?"

"Elaborate Scotty, I haven't even done anything to be grounded for!"

At this point my so-called 'teammates' interject with eye rolling and a few 'oh really's and 'here we go's. Spandex wearingtraitors. Oops here comes sassy Scott.

"One, you're always late for everything, even with an alarm clock-"

"Hey I'm a heavy sleeper!"

"Two, you always ignore all instructions and go solo on every single mission-"

"Just because you guys are so slow with all your stupid tactics!"

"Three, you keep running off to other teams without permission for weeks on end-"

"Yeah but know imma frickin' ninja now with Deadpool's nifty training-"

"And you can't bloody be quiet you pretentious Pyro!" Ouch. "How the hell do you think you can get away with this stuff and still be considered part of this team; you're 18 next week Alicia, but you still act like a fucking 8 year old. You're worse than Bobby was at your age, at least he's loyal to our team!"

I'm a little stunned, anchored down by this heavy feeling that drops in my stomach. Everyone's shocked into silence at Scott's rare loss of cool, who's now staring at me with clenched fists and panting like he's survived a 3 hour training session in the Danger Room.

"…Well my favourite Disney film is Peter Pan." Oh fuck my sarcastic defence mechanism. Immediately I know I've crossed the line. There's this sudden collective gasp, and Scott's icy glare is illuminated by his glowing red lenses. Oh shit. I never knew fear until today, not even Magneto's this terrifying.

Scott takes this shuddering breath, raises a finger at my chest and starts talking in this trembling low voice, as if its taking all his will power not to deck me back to Europe. "If you ever grow up and gain some honour, then feel free to come back; but as of now, you are no longer part of the Xmen, and once you're 18 you will no longer be a member of Xavier's Institute." He rips of my comlink from my jacket, making me trip backwards onto the stairs with a yelp. "You're a disgrace to what we fight for, and you only care about messing about and personal glory. We can't count on you, and you disappear for weeks at a time for stupid reasons and your own endeavours. The only thing you've done right is excel in training, and even then you're not interested in working for the greater good, which leads us to the question you seriously need to answer and soon, Alicia." Scott pulls me up a little by the neck of my jacket and bores his covered eyes into mine. "When are you going to ever find a fucking purpose in your life?" And with that, he drops me back onto the floor and swiftly turns around, followed by the rest of the Xmen. Not even Bobby makes eye contact with me, and I realise with a stab to my chest that they'd all discussed then and agreed on this prior, on my…expulsion.

The slam of the front door triggers the water works from me. Like a little girl, I wrap my arms around myself and stumble into the closest room, the common room and fall into the couch. Large heaving sobs shake the cushions, and I end up in the foetal position, making these wailing animal noises as if I've been neutered.

Why does it hurt so much? I'm Alicia Austin, infamous, ass kicking, sarcastic fire mutant; the rogue X-girl who sneaks off to team up with Deadpool and Spidey on Friday nights in New York. I never get gushy, or sad or even peeved when people shout at me; everyone knows not to give me responsibility of anything, just to accept my help when I'm giving it, no questions asked to my bipolar habits. I'm not allowed to give a flying flagon of firewiskey about what Scott or anyone else says. I've spent so much time sneaking out of the Institute; it shouldn't matter to me that they've finally kicked me out.

But it does. And I hate that it does so fucking badly.

This dull pain in my head and chest accompanies this wash of self-loathing that I haven't felt since I was 13, and discovered that I could throw fireballs and fly and stuff. I'd found out when Paul, my step dad was screaming that I'd forgotten to buy the groceries, and he'd slapped me; I'd started quivering uncontrollably, remembering the last time, when he promised that he would stop, and that he was 'sorry'. Only instead of leaving me with a few bruises and cuts on the floor, he started to scream and writhe on the floor. Locked under my gaze, these burn marks started appearing all over him, blotchy and red like my vision. I'd felt taller, powerful and for once, in control; that euphoric feeling of freedom, mixed with tingling nerves. I wasn't even sure that I was doing it, that it wasn't just a dream. All I could do was watch and try to look sad when the Professor showed up moments later and told me to control myself. Which I evidently cannot do, and only stopped when Paul started to catch fire and stop moving, snapping me out of my fiery trance. I was happy to blame that on the fact that I was 'too young to control myself'. But one look from Xavier and I knew that he knew I had full power over myself. The self-loathing came later, when Paul passed in hospital a few days later, and even then only because Xavier pummelled it into me that what I'd done was 'wrong'. That I'd gone 'too far'.

After a while, I notice the sticky, half dried tears on my face, once my breathing turns to steady, deep one. I concentrate on the stretching of my rib cage, and snuggle into the pillows, as if someone's holding me. I ignore my pathetic worries, try to forget my realisations of my lack of 'honour' and 'purpose', as Scott said. Wade doesn't have either of those, and he's always happy, right? After concluding that I'd soon get packed and head for his apartment, I spend another few minutes in a huddle staring ahead, before going on autopilot with the TV and DVD player.

Start…Menu…No subtitles…Play. A rumbling in my stomach orders me to grab a coke and a tub of Ben and Jerry's that has a sticky note reading 'HANDS OFF' from the fridge.

The Fellowship Of The Ring clouds my mind, pushing out my anxiety. The heroic music fills my brain with images of me kicking everyone's ass and saving Middle Earth. I don't care about what's going to happen. I rarely do to be honest, or at least that's what everyone else says. And as I drift off, I barely notice the TV screen burst in a swarm of purple smoke before it caresses me into a deep, dreamless sleep. Probably just some crappy CGI from the extended edition.

Helloooooooooooo, Renzin here!

I hope you like this intro, please review and favourite an all that jazz!

Im thinking of drawing my protagonist, but for now I'll say that when powered up she looks like a fire demon, with these fleshy dragon like scales, essentially a walking bonfire. In normal form, Alicia is 5'10", has a fair complexion, blue eyes, plump lips and thick brunette curls. She's fairly curvy, but is muscular and has martial arts and gymnastics training. Like her element, she's fiery, doesn't know when enough's enough and constantly is flirting without realising, despite the fact she's never dated.

Peace out!