Latest Posts by lesbiansaulgoodman2 - Page 4

Hi. Could you please write some Gambit fluff headcannons? The Gambit Nation is struggling right now and we could all really use some fluffiness from the man himself.

Btw I'm absolutely OBSESSED with your writing. Like, seriously amazing.

Gambit/GN!Reader

I Know you sent this in forever ago after that one godforsaken episode of 97' and I'm so sorry I'm just now getting to it!!! It's been sitting in my drafts for forever and I've just been struggling to come up with fluff hcs! TBH, It started as general fluff and not a whole ass storyline and eventually i just got too far deep to stop! This isn't even as fluffy as I was quite expecting, but once i started writing it just came out and atp I couldn't stop. It's been a rough night, but this really just turned Into being Remy's comfort person HCs.

TWs: rocky family life mentioned. Sneaking out, underage drinking, so on. Smooth timeskip to adulthood. very much fluffy with a lil bit of somber tones. Not enough to be angst tho.

Think about being Teens with Remy Lebeau. The late nights, sneaking out, ranting to each other in the streets and alleyways of New Orleans.

Getting into fights with your parents/guardians or siblings and wanting nothing more than to just shrivel up and disappear. Curling up underneath your blankets with a pillow wrapped around your ears trying to just block out all of the bad thoughts when you keep hearing a persistent Tap, Tap, Tap. And then a much more obvious pop! Against your window.

You know who it is before you even unwrap yourself from the comfort of your bed, opening your window with a lot less energy than you usually have. You're tired and sad, but the face of that Cajun boy your parents don't like always makes you smile.

The red-eyed teen's smirk falls when he sees the rough state you're in, right before ducking back behind the trashcan when a light turns on in your parent's bedroom. Eventually, it turns back off again, and by the time he's back on the sidewalk you're ready to go. He helps you out of the window much more gentlemanly than a thief and a scoundrel probably should, but he's nothing if not a sweetheart. (And a loverboy, but you wouldn't realise it then.)

"Ah, hell wit' them. S'not like they worth your time anyway." Remy's got an arm wrapped around your shoulders, a beer in hand as the two of you lean against the wall of a particular mausoleum. -Course, you had offered whatever ghosts has resided there the first sip as a courtesy, so you're definitely not cursed, right? Not that Remy was even worried about that, but he puts up with your superstitions to comfort you.

"Don't say that, please." You whisper, rubbing your tired eyes. He frowns, knowing that he wouldn't know the first ting about how "normal" families work, but he doesn't quite get why you worry about what they think so much.

"I don't get why you stay, Cher. Not when they treat you like this." You can feel the rumble of Remy's voice through his chest, and find yourself tucking yourself closer into his side. He sets his head on top of yours when you do so.

"What other choice do I have? They're my parents." You whisper, fidgeting with some strings at the hem of your sweatshirt. In hindsight, maybe wearing pajamas to a graveyard wasn't the best choice. You hear Remy chuckle after a moment as a thought crosses his mind, and he swirls the bottle slowly, a few times, before he hands it to you.

"Well..." He starts, giving the words a moment to rest. "There is one option..." You take the bottle from him, cocking a eye as you sit up a little bit to look at him.

"And what's that?"

"Run away wit' me."

He's smirking when he suggests it, a playfulness in his eyes. If only you knew just how serious he was.

"Remy LeBeau!" You scold, unable to fight back your smile as he chuckles at you.

"What? S'not a bad idea, no? No thieves guild, no drama, Jus' you an me." He laughs when you give him an incredulous look and take a dramatic sip from the beer, only to make a face at the taste directly afterwards. Damn, was it rancid.

"Don't get me dreaming, Remy." You mumble. There's only a little bit left it the bottle, and you decide it's better suited for the graveyard. Remy complains about it, trying to fight you for the rest of the beer. The two of you are a couple of idiots to be laughing this loud in a place like this, and even bigger ones to start play-fighting, but neither of you really mind.

You were each other's safe space. The one person the other could run to as the world falls apart around them. Life as a teen was never easy, especially not when you're mutants- but at least you had each other. But as his life was being consumed with the thieves guild, and the prophesy that came with it, you saw less and less of Remy as the years went by.

When you did meet again, it was under the roof of one Professor Xavier. The others were nervous and distrustful about this ex-con entering the team, but you never doubted him for a second. Your person was finally right where you needed him once again. Your Remy. And as smooth as he is around the team, you knew it was a wall, almost an act. Something to befriend the others- but you knew Remy, and you were grateful that after all the years that had passed, he still came to you when he needed you the most.

"Long day?" You ask. Remy hums in response, plopping down onto the bed next to you. You set your book to the side when he rests his head in your lap, soothingly running your hands through his hair as he sighs in content.

"You know it, ma chérie." Remy says in your lap. You can't help but blush at the name still, despite how many years he's spent calling you by the words. Remy's eyes are closed beneath you, giving you the freedom to fully take in the features of his handsome face whilst keeping him unawares. His stubble is growing in, and he's got a few new freckles and scars from your years seperated, but he's still the same wild, reckless kid you fell in love with as a teen. He hums as you brush your thumbs across his cheekbones, catching your hand and pressing it to his lips, leaving a kiss there. He then kisses your inner wrist before holding your hand to his face.

You still don't really know what to say when he does things like that.

"Can I ask you something?" You ask after a moment.

" 'Course, Cher."

"Would you still wanna run away with me?" When the last words leave your mouth, you can feel Remy frown. His eyes open about halfway, your hand still in his hold as he presses it to his face.

"What brought this on?" He asks, and you only shrug, looking away from him as your thumb idly strokes his face.

"I dunno. I was just thinking about it." His skin on your own is starting to feel too warm, your nerves becoming unignorable. Remy cocks an eyebrow at you, before he smiles. Not a smirk, a real, genuine, smile. He takes your chin in his hand, and moves your head so that you're looking at him again.

"If you needed me to run away with you, Belle, I'd do so without looking back." His words make you smile brightly, holding onto the wrist of the hand that holds your chin. You lean forward to press a kiss to his forehead, but Remy moves. He sits up just slightly, and before you know it, Remy Lebeau's lips are pressed against yours in a sweet kiss.

Remy chuckles at the surprised face you're making when he pulls back, sitting up a little further so that he can press his forehead to your own, leaning into your space.

"You' always known me to be an opportunist, Cher. Can't help but steal a kiss here an there." Remy says, and your laugh is partly from disbelief, surprise, and outright giddy joy.

"Please tell me you haven't been waiting to say that since we were kids." You ask. Remy smiles brightly in return.

"My poker face 'not good enough for you, huh, ma chérie?."

I love learning about Malcolm McDowell and seeing movies with him in it cuz he was such a cutie in the 70’s(still is!) but searching him up only brings up ACWO

MY I HAVE NO MOUTH, AND I MUST SCREAM ANIMATION IS FINALLY FINISHED!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH TO EVERYONE FOR ALL THE LOVE AND SUPPORT!!🩷🩷🩷🩷❤️❤️❤️🩷🩷❤️❤️

There are definitely some obvious issues, but as my first full animation since 2018 I’m happy with it! And I hope you are all happy with it too! Let me know your thoughts in the reblogs and comments :3

I’d also appreciate if you checked it out on YouTube as well, I’m trying to boost my audience there! My handle is @ catfrogz-

I LOVE TURNING MEN INTO WOMEN

colored that little yes man page c:

meh...I just found something old.

The cutie patooties being sleeby (anatomy’s not the best but I think it’s ok 😂)

Also bonus whumpy Kurt because I’m deranged and I know others will also enjoy it

Thank you, have a good evening

Adler @ Bell

Soon as I saw the meme I had to. And yes I had to use my WIP for it lmao.

My favorite thing about making self inserts for media I like (because I like one of the characters), is when I put a depressing toxic yuri plot line for my insert- I end up focusing on that instead of the character I began it for🥲

cyclops !! my favorite boy

decided to try stop motion. he found a shiny gift for you.

ignore my knee and the string visible in the shot, idk what I'm doing and I'm very sweaty

Aaa…I realize that I find Harlan Ellison good looking because of Adler in COD..heehee

Saw a post about someone complaining about hc characters as trans fem. Like- how does this affect you in anyway? Just block and scroll. Gonna have to blast the transfem ray on all characters now

Please, when u have the time, more Pietro stuff 😭😭😭 ur writing for him is excellent and I need more!! Headcanons, stories, idc I just need more Quicksilver written by u.

Enemies to lovers!Quicksilver/GN!reader - pt 2 It's finally here!! I'm sorry if there are any spelling mistakes. Also, I think the ending is probably the most dialogue heavy scene I've done so far, and I'm not entirely happy with it, but i wanted to post this so bad!! I might go back and edit later though. Hope you all enjoy!! TWS: Fighting, passive aggression, full on aression kinda, logan is a worried asshole big brother, Professor X watching his tragedy not quite repeat. Pietro is kinda an ass but he's a broken ass so its okay.

You and Pietro had a weird relationship. And it seemed to just spiral into even weirder territories and murkier waters. Each and every interaction tiptoed into something a little more than just enemies, and one night you think the two of you fully crossed the line. You were sure of it, and it was just the start.

    You’re finally starting to fall asleep when there’s a sudden whoosh of air and grunt of pain. It startles you, and you sit straight up in bed, leaning over to flicker on the light. When your eyes finally adjust, you see Pietro standing by the window, hunched over in clear distress.

    “Pietro? What are you doing here?” You ask, But he doesn’t respond. His suit is ripped and bloody, and various deep cuts litter his skin. You swear he’s about to pass out as he stands in front of you, swaying just a little like he did on that day at the beach. Whatever fight he had just been through, it had taken a little more out of him than that fast metabolism could heal so quickly. 

    “Are you okay?” You ask, wide-eyed at him. Pietro grimaces in a way that looks more angry than it does pained, and yet he still says nothing. Unable to deal with the idea of admitting he needs help, you assume.

    He’s sitting on your bed now, naked from the waist up as you stitch his wounds. He’s been silent the whole time, only offering a wince or grunt every now and then with particularly tender wounds. Right now you’re on your knees as you stitch up a rather deep cut on his upper side, his arms keeping his balance as he leans back on your bed.

    “Do you wanna talk about it?” You ask eventually. Pietro’s chest pulls on the stitches just a little as he huffs in annoyance, regretting the action a moment too late.

    “If I did, I would be.” He snaps. You raise an eyebrow at him as you begin a new stitch, piercing the skin perhaps a tad less cautious than you had been before.

    “Take it easy, speedster. ‘Last time I checked I was the one with the needles in my hand.” You snark. Pietro has nothing more to say to that, instead turning his head away so that he doesn’t have to look at you. It doesn’t take a genius to know he’s a bit embarrassed at this whole situation, and you feel a bit bad for him. Out of all the places he could have gone to, there had to be a reason he chose to come here. You just couldn’t tell what that reason was. 

    You’re gentle while you finish wrapping him in bandages, and he can’t seem to look you in the eyes even for a second. When you reach out to brush some dirt off of his face, he finally meets your eyes. He’s a little less guarded than he was before, but the wall between the two of you still remains. There's a quick gust of wind as he moves towards the open window, stopping just before he leaves.

    “...Thank you.” He says after a moment, looking at you from the corner of his eye. You smile at him, a warm feeling in your chest. The difference in his attitude was noticeable, and the fact that he was acting even a little less cold with you was reassuring.

    “You’re welcome.” You reply, and then he’s gone again, having closed the window behind him this time.

The difference between the two sides of Pietro you saw was so jarring. You were so used to the cocky asshole that spent all his effort in terrorizing you, not the quiet, almost angry, and guarded man that stood before you that night- and the many nights afterward.

The second time he showed up, this time woundless and simply laid on your bed to rant, you were surprised but didn’t mind it. Then it happened again, and again, and then came the board games, the nights of talking endlessly, and the midnight snacking. 

And eventually, Pietro started to climb into your bed. He never spoke a word when he did, simply pulling back the covers and pulling you close, pressing his face into the back of your neck. Nights like this were vulnerable, and tender. Quiet. He came to you in need of comfort often, and you were willing to be his safe space for as long as he wanted.

The more he came to you, hurt or angry or sad, the more concerned you became. And you were upfront about it, much to his dismay.

     “You know, I get that we’re on two different sides of things- but you know that the school’s doors are always open to those who need it, right?” You ask, late one night after he had crawled into bed by your side. You were facing him, hand curling on the pillow an inch away from his face, fighting the urge to brush his bangs away from his forehead. Immediately, he has a negative reaction to it. He scowls, recoiling away from you as he glares. You know it should hurt worse than it does, but all you can see is the hurt he's feeling right now.

    “The last thing I need is for another person to tell me what to do.” He snaps, turning his head away from you as he sits up and runs his hand through his hair, aggravated. You sit up on the bed a little further, almost wanting to reach for him, but you don’t.

    “Pietro, You know that’s not what I meant-” You say, softy.

    “Does it matter what you meant?” Pietro practically cuts you off. His tone is sharp, and it hurts you for a second. You frown at him- not that he could see it anyway, and the hurt quickly turns to aggravation on your end.

    "Yes, it does. I'm not bossing you around, I'm just telling you that the X-men- myself included- are here if you need any help." You huff, watching as he practically rolls his eyes at you and stands, looming over the bed as he turns to look at you.

    "The telling part is the problem. Everyone tells me that I could do something, but what they mean is that I should do it." He snaps. You move over to his side of the bed before standing, almost in a challenge. The two of you are now almost uncomfortably close, to the point where you’re sure if you moved an inch your noses would be touching.

    "Well, What if that's not what I’m doing but you're just reading it that way?" You say, meeting his gaze. Pietro was never one to back down from a confrontation, especially not one with you. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him quite this angry at you before, rocky past be damned.

    "So you’re saying I'm overanalyzing?" He says, and you groan at the fact that nothing you said was getting through to him, pushing the palms of your hands into the outer edge of your eye sockets. 

    "I'm saying that I'm not your dad-" 

    "And what would you know about my family?!" Pietro yells, and you’re quick to look back up at him, scowling. 

    "Don't raise your voice at me!” You snap, pushing a finger into his chest. “I know enough to know that your dad controls every aspect of what you do, and that's not fair to you." You tell him.

    "Don't pretend that you understand or care about any of that" Pietro says, grabbing ahold of your hand rather tightly. God! You did not understand why he couldn’t get it through his thick fucking skull!

    "I do care, Pietro!" The words burst out of you, almost uncontrollably. You slam your other fist into his chest, tears of frustration welling in your eyes as you look at him. His eyes are wide, looking shocked and confused. You’re beginning to lose your fight, leaning against his chest, still somewhat caught in his grip despite the fact that his hold on your hand had become light, and still, it felt confining. 

    "I may not understand why you do what you do, but I do care about you." Your words come out quieter this time, blinking away those stupid tears that had started to well. Pietro’s eyebrows are furrowed, eyes searching your own, but you don't know what for. The two of you stand there for what feels like forever for both of you speedsters, but was surely more like a split second. You’re still pressed up against his chest, faces so close they could touch.

    And then they did.

    Pietro is the first to kiss you, leaning in and quickly cupping the back of your neck with his free hand, almost in a possessive manner. Once his thoughts have finally caught up with his actions, he pulls back. He looks at you, wide-eyed at his own actions before you gently pull him back in for another kiss. It only takes a moment to click before he sighs into you, melting into the kiss. His kisses are tender, sweet presses of his lips against your own. After a few long moments, you slowly pull away from him. He rests his forehead against your own, a fond look in his eyes that you were sure you mirrored. 

From that night on, his nightly visits to you meant something more than they had in the past.

That didn’t mean that they went unnoticed by others, however, and one day you found yourself being called into the professor's study. Of course you were a little worried, but you were so sure that there was no way anyone could have noticed, right?

    Logan is standing next to the professor's desk when you enter the room, frowning with his arms crossed. Professor Xavier on the other hand sits rather calmly, inviting you to sit down. You choose to stand instead, cocking your head at them.

    “Wow. What is this, an intervention?” You joke, trying to laugh off the oddness of the situation.

    “Yup.” Logan snorts. You shoot him a confused and slightly panicked look that the professor picks up on immediately.

    “There’s no need to worry, my dear.” The professor says calmly. “We just had a few concerns about-” 

    “We know that Magneto’s brat has been sneaking into your room.” You almost flinch at Logan's accusatory tone, bristling with a sudden flash of embarrassment and then anger at him for what he calls Pietro. “I’ve been smelling his scent on you for weeks.” Logan finishes, and you’re so taken aback you don’t know what to say at first, mouth hanging open in shock.

    “Easy, Logan.” The professor says, raising an eyebrow at the furry man, but Logan isn’t listening, approaching you with a scowl on his face.

    “Have you ever heard the phrase, no fraternizing with the enemy, kid?” He continues, and the close contact has you bristling again, unwilling to back down.

    “Logan.” The professor tries again, unsuccessfully.

    “Look, the first time he came to me he was injured. I wasn’t going to turn him away.” You finally say, fists clenching as you ignore Logan before looking back at the professor instead.

    “I understand that. In fact, I’m thankful that you could be so forgiving towards Pietro, despite the past the two of you share.” The professor states, but his words hardly relieve you.

    “Then what is the problem?” You ask, exacerbated by this whole interaction already. Logan seems to be angry that you’re ignoring him but snorts at your question.

    “-The problem is that you shouldn’t be letting him in your knickers.” You gasp at Logan's accusation, and the professor looks appalled. 

    “Logan!” Professor X scolds as you struggle and scrabble for words, now both embarrassed, mortified, and rather flush in the face.

    “-Excuse you! We weren’t- we’ve never!” It’s a struggle to finally find your words, and even more embarrassing to be so caught off guard. What kind of asshole accuses someone of that out in the freaking open?! In front of your mentor no less?!

    “Sure you haven’t. That’s why your bed doesn’t smell like him.” Logan rolls his eyes, and you refrain from punching him in the face right then and there.

    “Well if your stupid nose was as good as you say it is, you would know that we haven't done anything just by the smell!”

    “Just because it hasn’t happened now-” 

    ENOUGH! Both of you! The professor silenced the argument with a single thought. Both you and Logan feel scolded, and yet still bitter about the other. You cross your arms in a bit of a defensive manner ad the two of you turn back to face the professor.

    “This was never supposed to be an argument, simply a conversation.” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. You scoff at that, sending a pointed look in Logan’s direction.

    “Well maybe, Logan should learn to stay out of my business!” You say, only for the professor to hold his hand up for you to stop, simply hoping both you and Logan would quit continuing to dig this hole deeper and deeper.

    “I’ve heard enough.” Professor X states. “We were simply concerned about the nature of the relationship between the two of you, seeing that you have been growing closer. I know your mind, and I trust you to stay by the X-men’s side.”

    “Then what is this?” You ask, the words coming out as more of a whisper. Logan sighs, looking regretful but ever the stubborn ass. He looks at you again moving to where he can lean against the professor’s desk again.

    “... Look, Kid. we just don’t want you to get hurt. Anything between you and Pietro isn’t going to end well.” Logan says. You feel a little more understanding of him now, but only a bit, with him back to acting like he normally did. He was always an older brother figure to you, but that did not give him the right to air out your business, even if the professor could find out everything that had been happening with the barest glimpse into your mind. Still, you scowl just slightly at Logan, looking away from him. He sighs again, and with a nod from the professor, leaves the room. The professor nods you over to him, wheeling his way towards the bookshelf with one particular photo on it. One of him and Magento in their college days.

    “You are an adult. I cannot stop you from making your own decisions.” The professor starts. You find yourself tracing the features of the young Erik, finding the image of Pietro in every part of his father's face. The professor looks at you, and all he can see is a face so similar to his own. “I too, understand what it is like to hold affection for someone so distantly aligned from you. It’s due to that understanding that I worry for you. I…” The professor trails off and you turn to look at him with a frown. You knew. You know. The two of you are so different from each other, but surely that didn’t mean you would be enemies forever? He wouldn’t hurt you in the way that Magneto had hurt the professor so many times before… would he? Professor Xavier reaches out to take your hand in both of his own, squeezing it reassuringly.

    “Just be careful, my dear.” 

    “I understand, professor.” 

is this allowed?

Morph in some classy casual wear.

I hope they’re siblings in every universe.

Wolverine/Fem!Reader - Masterlist link

You've met Logan Howlett in every life you've lived since the 1900s. And in every lifetime, fate rips you from him just as cruelly as it forces the two of you to meet. How many lives will it take for the two of you to finally have your happily ever after?

General TWs: Reincarnation, death, Major character death (multiple times), Angst with a happy ending. Controlling familiail behavior, descriptions of wounds, descriptions of war, descriptions of violence/death, childhood trauma. Possible historical inaccuracies.

Here's the first chapter!! I waassss gonna wait until I finished part two and post both at once but TBH I was desperate to get this out! I hope yall enjoy this, and I would like to remind everyone that I am not a nurse or any kind of medical personnel, and I kinda struggled to find out about the procedures of ww1 nurses, so take most of the nurse stuff with a grain of salt! like watching a dumbed down version of grey's anatomy lol. I'd also like to say that I decided to make Logan's healing factor slower during ww1 and ww2, as he hadn't gone through the Weapon X program yet. Chapter TWs: Blood, injury, childhood injuries in the prologue scene, war n shit, ww1 canada is a tw on it's own.

     October 22, 1900.

    “Andy!!”  Your brother rolls his eyes at the sound of your high-pitched voice calling his name, turning around with a frown. He always had been faster than you, and today was no different. He had gone running into the woods when your mother had called the two of you in for lunch, and ever the devoted little sister, you had chased after him before she could notice what the two of you were doing. You’re panting when you finally catch up to him, your skirts scrunched up in your fists as you try your best to keep them from catching on bushes and vines.

    “Where are you going? Mama’s calling us for lunch!” Neither of you was supposed to be on this side of the woods, past the fence that marked your family’s property. It made you nervous to be so far past the boundary. Your older brother scoffs at you, turning away once again as he continues to march further. 

    “Father told me that he had set bear traps out to keep the animals away from the house. I’m going to see if he’s caught anything.” Andrew says stubbornly. You rush ahead to try and keep up with him, staying close and looking around anxiously. You never had been a rule breaker, and this was just a little more adventurous than you were comfortable with.

    “Bears? You don’t think we’ll find any, do you? I don't want to see anything be hurt.” You whine, tears forming in your eyes. Your brother laughs at you, the same way did the time you brought some a dying bird, or the time you had begged father to spare the rabbit that had been digging in the garden. He never understood why you were so soft-hearted.

    “You’re going to need to be more brave if you’re going to be an adult one day. Cowards get killed.” Andrews teases, cackling wickedly as he steps on a branch and the sound of it snapping causes you to flinch and cry out, rushing forward to grab hold of his arm.

    “That’s not true!” You cry. 

    “Yeah, it is!” Andrew argues. There’s a bit of a ditch in front of the two of you, and he shakes you off before he hops down. He holds his hand out to help you navigate the drop, and you take it eagerly as you carefully get down, making sure not to dirty your skirts any more than they had been. 

    “No, it’s not! It’s not true! It’s not true because I have you, remember? Big brothers are supposed to protect their little sisters!” You persist once you’re finished. Andrew sighs again, but you don’t doubt his answer for a second. He rolls his eyes at you before he begins to walk on.

    “Of course I am. But you can’t expect me to get to you every time.” Andrew says. You’re about to refute that when the two of you hear a rustling in the bushes up ahead. Andrew holds out a hand to keep you behind him, stopping both of you in your tracks. The birds have stopped singing, and you know that it means something scary is about to happen. Dad calls it a bad oh-men or something along those lines, but you didn’t usually listen to him. Now you’re starting to wish you had.

    “Stay here. I think I hear something up ahead.” Andrew whispers to you. You try to grab for his arms as he leaves you, but he’s too far away, and you find your feet rooted to the spot. You’re too scared to move, holding your hands anxiously as you watch Andrew begin to stumble through the bushes cautiously. You don’t like this. You don’t like it at all. You can only see his head through once he’s through the thick of it, and you hear him huff in disappointment when he doesn’t find anything on the other side.

    “Never mind. There’s not even-” There’s a sound of a mechanical snap before Andrew falls to the ground with a scream. 

    “Andy!” You cry out, immediately bolting through the bush. Branches and briars get caught on your skirt and tear at your skin as you push through to get to him. Your brother is shouting and grunting in pain when you see him, tears dotting his eyes as he stares down at the sight of his ankle caught firmly between the teeth of a bear trap.

    “Stupid trap!” He cries out, his hands shaking from adrenaline. You don’t know what to do, standing frozen at the bloody sight before you, mind going back and forth between whether or not you should go to your brother or run home to get your parents.

     “Help me get it off!” Andrew shouts, and it’s enough to finally bring you back to the situation. You can only nod frantically as you kneel by his side. Hands shaking as you help your brother try and open the trap and get it off of him. The metal digs into your fingers as you try to pry it open, your brother grunting and crying with the effort to do so. You can only think of what your parents will say, what Andrew will do. What if it got infected? What if he lost his foot completely? You realize you’re crying as you and Andrew try with all your might to pull the trap open, grip beginning to slip on the contraption right as Andrew tugs his leg out of the trap. It snaps closed violently after, barely missing both of your fingertips as Andrew rolls away from it.

    “What- What do we do? Andy?” You ask, unable to do much but stare as your brother writes in pain. It’s all happening so fast, but god did everything feel so slow. Andrew manages to make out something about stopping the bleeding, and you’re right on it as you press your small hands to the bloody, mangled, flesh. You squeeze tightly as you pray and pray and pray for him to stop bleeding, shutting your eyes tightly as you sob and cry and wish you could do something, anything more to help your big brother.

    There’s a buzzy feeling in your hands, like pins and needles without the pain. You don’t see it happening as you sit there and bawl for your brother, his warm blood on your hands all you can manage to feel in the moment. The blood begins to slow, and slow, and you don't even realize it has stopped until everything seems to be just as quiet as before. You realize that Andrew isn’t crying anymore, and find yourself brave enough to cautiously open your eyes.

    To your surprise, you don’t see anything. 

    All there is is Andrew’s blood staining his ripped pants and both of your hands- but the strangest part of all was that there was no more wound. Not even a bruise remained of the bone-deep cuts that had been there just a moment before. Your tears begin to dry up as your eyebrows furrow, still hiccuping as you look on at the scene in confusion. When you look up at your brother, he’s wide-eyed. Staring at you in complete shock.

    “Was that you that did that?”  He asks. You don’t know what to say. You don't know. You begin to notice a soreness in your leg as the two of you sit there, simply staring at each other in shock. Eventually, Andrew swallows, before he tries to stand up, doing so effortlessly and without pain. He stretches and flexes his leg, moving it back and forth like his brain is still playing catch up. You try to follow his lead, only to cry out in pain and stumble. There's a deep purple bruise circling your leg when you raise your skirt, one that perfectly mimicked the bloody hole in Andrew’s pants where his own wound once had been.

    He carried you back home that day.

    The Great War began on July 28th, 1914. The archduke of Austria, Franz Ferdinand, had been assassinated, thus causing a series of events that spiraled into the worst war that the world had ever seen until that point. Your brother was quickly whisked away into the battle once the fight had started. He quickly advanced through the ranks, his ever-present charm and intelligence being a boon to him, and an asset to many others. He had always been the fighter. Your bother Andrew, your protector, and keeper of your secrets, now a general in the Canadian army. You could hardly believe it. 

    You, on the other hand, had begun to educate yourself at your brother’s behest. You became a nurse, finding yourself drawn to the field in the absence of the many men who had left mainland hospitals to go to war. You loved it. You loved helping people heal and survive, thrive even, but even so, you had become rather secretive about your natural gifts. Andrew, as supportive as he was, knew that the world would never accept powers like yours. As guilty as you felt every time a patient had slipped through the doctor’s fingers, you knew better. Your healing abilities took from you a fraction of what it gave to others, and using it was just not possible in large doses. You knew that and knew to listen to your brother’s warnings. Still, it did not stop you completely. Healing a wound or broken bone now and then in the shadows, where there was no one there to see. Miracles became your specialty, but your medical knowledge had become your backbone.

    At the end of April, you were surprised to receive a letter from your brother, the contents of it being a plea for you to join him in the war efforts. They needed nurses, trained, knowledgeable, nurses. You would be by his side as much as possible, but you were needed across the sea. And well, if it was your brother asking, who were you to refuse?

May 2nd, 1917

    "You are to keep your medical supplies cleanly and well maintained. I understand that you aren't exactly green in this line of work, but let me tell you, you haven't seen war yet." The senior nurse in front of you has no time for fools, you have only known her for a moment, and yet you know this for a fact. Her pace is fast and purposeful. Her skirt is muddied and stained, and yet her boots do not seem to sink or stick in the mud like yours do as you try your best to keep up with her. Nurse Mary is strict in personality and pace, and you're careful to follow directly behind her throughout the busy encampment. 

Everyone seems to have something urgent to attend to, soldiers and nurses and medics alike all running about through the mud and dirt. There are many hospital tents, many more than you had originally anticipated. You begin to realize exactly why your brother had been so firm in instructing you to refrain from assisting any wounded beyond what help lies within sutures and gauze. 

    “How often do the wounded arrive?” You ask, following her into a rather large hospital tent and passing by various cots with wounded men.

    “You should expect them to arrive every day. The wounded are many, but the dead are more, god rest their souls.”  She tells you, one of her hands clutching the cross around her neck for a moment. There are many things you have learned throughout your schooling, and many gruesome sights you know to expect, but the one thing that still gave you chills was the death toll. You try not to think about it too hard, knowing that it’s just the truth of war that good men go to die. But that doesn’t mean you will ever be forced to be comfortable with it. You pass many rows of wounded soldiers as you follow her through, many being gravely injured with missing and mangled limbs, and shrapnel in places where it should never be. You keep your bedside manner in check, but you know half of those men won’t make it through the night.

    “We should be grateful for the men who return to our care, but please keep in mind that we are the only buffer between them and god. You must understand that losing these men isn’t an if, it’s a when.” You nod solemnly in response to her, quelling the anxiety in your heart. You knew very well that she was right. You casually look around the hospital tent, doing your best to help familiarise yourself with the surroundings when a puff of smoke catches your eye.

    You don’t know where to laugh or scold the man, brown eyes meeting your own as he quickly tries to hide the cigar. Nurse Mary clearly had not seen him, but you certainly did. You can’t help but smile in a baffled sort of way, and the soldier- the quite handsome soldier- smirks, shrugging his shoulders at you. You try not to laugh, choosing to simply shake your head instead of pointing it out to Nurse Mary. It’s something he clearly appreciates, and he tips his head at you, winking as you finally pass him by. You hope you’re not blushing, quickly looking away from him with a smile on your face that you couldn’t fight off.

    “Are you paying attention, Miss? Your brother spoke very highly of your skills, it would be a shame if it were all to be lies.” The nurse ahead of you says, a strict tone in her voice. It almost startles you, bringing you back to earth after the solid minute of distraction the brown-eyed soldier had caused. 

    “I- yes. I apologize. Please, continue.” You reply quickly. You can tell she’s not quite convinced but doesn’t have the time to care, reminding you that there would be little to no time to dally once you had been given decent instruction about the facilities. You’re eager to get to work, and decide that there would be no more distractions today- no matter how charming or handsome they seem to be.

—-

    You were assigned work the moment your walkthrough had been conducted. No downtime, no breaks. You wonder if you truly had any idea how bad things would be where you got here. Seeing the wounded was one thing, but reading their chart was another. You felt detached as you conducted physicals, changed bandages, and redressed wounds and cuts. You checked for infections in those with amputated limbs, knowing that death would soon come for those who were so unfortunate. The difference between any of the men was astounding- wounds from this war unlike any that you had ever seen before. You had heard of the new weapons, the horrors that geniuses had developed so that others would die. It pains you that someone could be so ignorant and cruel- and yet even you hope that you would never have to face those instruments of war.

   Out of all the strange and unusual wounds and war-torn soldiers you met on that day, there was only one who you remembered in truly remarkable detail.

    You see the puff of smoke before you see him, lounging on the backboard of his hospital cot without a care in the world. Besides some old bandages on his chest, you can tell that he’s not in any pain. To be honest, you start to wonder if he belongs in this infirmary at all. He’s distracted, cigar held up to his lips as he takes a deep inhale of the smoke, drowning out his senses with the nicotine. 

    “You must be feeling pretty confident to be breaking the only rule we have in here.” You say, raising an eyebrow at him. He chokes on the smoke rather suddenly, trying to recover as quickly as he can as he puts the cigar out. You give him a sweet smile, trying your best not to laugh. He smiles sort of unabashedly at you, shrugging. 

    “Can’t blame a man for tryin’.” He coughs. You shake your head at him, lifting some papers on your clipboard before you find the one assigned to his cot. Your eyes are immediately drawn to his list of past injuries and causes of infirmary visits. How is this man even alive?

    “Logan Howlett, I presume? You’re pretty perky for a man who has such a long list of injuries.” You state, still reading it through. You’ve never seen this many on one chart before- all dating from the very start of the war to his current visit. Logan gives you a shrug of his shoulders, which isn’t exactly a response you would prefer, but he smiles at you in a charming sort of way that makes your heart flutter. 

    “They call me Lucky Logan for a reason,” Logan hums- causing you to huff a laugh. You shake your head at him, setting the clipboard down on the edge of the bed before you begin conducting a physical and checking on his “wounds.”- not that there really was any besides an odd, yellowed bruise or two that you could almost swear seemed to be lightening by the minute.

    “ ‘You new here?” You glance up at him at the sound of his voice, smiling a bit out of politeness.

   “Why, Is it that easy to tell?” You ask, knowing that he certainly knew so due to him seeing you earlier, but you wonder for a moment if you seemed to be any different from the other nurses. You always strived to be good at what you do, but part of you had a tendency to worry if you could keep up with the others here.

    “Nah,” He says, bluntly. “I just think I’d remember if I had seen a pretty nurse like you before.”  The words make you gape for a moment, that smile still showing as you shake your head at him and try not to laugh. He was a flirt- a rather smooth one too. 

    “Do you use that line on all the ladies?” You tease as you pull out your stethoscope to listen to his heart. You listen, and besides the fact that his heart rate is a little faster than the regular average, you don’t seem to notice anything too strange.

    “Only the ones as pretty as you.” He says. You don’t hold back your laugh at that, and his genuine smile is definitely contagious. You check his eyesight and overall mobility one more time once you’re done, trying not to blush at the way he’s looking at you. You feel his gaze even when you step away to write on his chart, finishing things up.

    “Well, Mr. Howlett, you seem to have a perfect bill of health,” Logan perks up a bit at that, moving to where he can sit on the side of the cot, his feet on the ground. “...but I can’t completely release you just yet. You’re free to wander around some, but you’ll have to wait for the doc to give you one last look-over before you can go back to the frontlines.” He lets out a dramatic sigh, frowning for only a minute before he stands, winking at you as he grabs his shirt from underneath the cot- the bloodied one they wheeled him in here with, no doubt, and puts it on.

    “If that means I’ll be seeing you more often, I’ll take it.” He flirts. You laugh, knowing that you very well might have swooned if you had been any greener to this line of work. Instead, all you can really do is cringe at the sight of his shirt and lean down to the small table to his right, the one where his chart had been, and open the drawer, revealing a freshly clean set of clothes. 

    “Don’t get too ahead of yourself, Smokey.” You joke, finding his surprised face rather endearing. It only takes a moment before he’s smirking again, taking the clothes from you and doing a mock toast to you with the cloth. You shake your head at him, trying to keep your smile contained as you walk away from him and over to your next patient.

    You find yourself thinking about him throughout the day, both delighted and somewhat frustrated at yourself for swooning so easily over a soldier- on your first day, too. You had told yourself when you took this job that you would never do such a thing, knowing that so many romances in a time like this end in tragedy- but you certainly couldn’t seem to help it. You think about him when the other nurses talk about their personal soldiers, out there fighting the war, and think about him again before you go to bed. It was frustrating! You met a man and knew him a whole ten minutes before swooning like a schoolgirl. You suppose it felt nice to be wanted nonetheless and felt nice to be complemented by someone you found so handsome… But you didn’t need to be thinking so hard about this right now anyway. You roll over onto your side in your bed, hoping to fall asleep soon instead of spending time thinking about something that won’t happen.

    Besides, there wasn’t a chance in hell that your brother would ever approve of any relationship you had with a soldier. You were sure that if he had his way, you would die as a spinster- forever reliant on the family. Your dreams that night are more like nightmares, dreaming of faces and growing old and rocking in a chair alone in your brother’s house, a burden to his finances, his wife, and children. But then there are some dreams where you see the face of one particular soldier, and wonder why you felt so compelled by him.

I made an X-Men Oc! Her character is under but if you don’t like pus or boils then u should scroll pass ^^ (it’s not detailed but just in case)

Her name is Maya Chanthavong and she is a first generation Laotian American. She was thirteen when her mutant ability manifested( first appearing as acne, but kept developing into the cystic mound it is now when maya/mother intervened with it. When it became noticeable through a headband, her peers started to tease/bully her for being an “ugly unicorn”- leading her to be simply called unicorn. I’m still figuring out how she realized that the mound was due to her being a mutant, but when a person got into contact with the pus, they are given extreme luck or healed of any ailment. When this was figured out, her parents/peers/doctors tried to abuse her ability. Each time it is used, the mound would grow and spread- being painful to maya. When she finally decided to run away, she sought refuge with the Morlocks. I would’ve included my self insert, but I got shy and decided against it( also when I draw them it feels like it isn’t rlly a self-insert). If you took the time to read my ramblings thank you!

big sweaty butches (and they are kissing)

Nightcrawler/GN! reader - part 1 - part 2 - part 3 It's finally here!! I didn't finish it in one chapter like I wanted to but I'm just glad to have something finished lol. Please be cautious while reading however!! read the tws please!! Sorry if it seems a bit rushed. TWs: circus fire, depictions of violence, depictions of animal cruelty/animal death mentioned. Drugging/sedatives (poor kurt), panic, people are awful, I made stephan an asshole sorry if it's OOC. Margali Szardos the queen u are. Hurt/no comfort this chapter. next chapter will be fluffy and sweet I promise.

    You never really got that reunion with Kurt that he had promised.

    With each week that passed by, you saw him less and less. Each meeting was just simple greetings and pleasantries, and then apologies as he was ushered off by his brother, or the choreographer, or the ringleader himself. The distance you could handle. The lack of time together, you could handle. The one thing that really had you worried was that each time you saw Kurt, he had look more and more tired, worked to the bone, and drowsy. This continued, on and on, until eventually, you stopped seeing Kurt all altogether. 

    You asked about him frequently when you spoke with the animal trainers, only to be met with a shrug, or indifference, and an overall lack of concern. You had no time to speak with his mother or sister, only receiving some understanding looks that seemed just as worried and sad as you were. You only tried to speak with his brother once, and some sharp words and a cold shoulder later, you decided that would be the last time you would speak to him.

    You were worried, and each week that passed you became more and more anxious. You snuck around the circus, tackling one area at a time, but no dice. Even his old living quarters hadn’t been touched in months- and that was the strangest part. You knew he was still at the circus. You heard him being announced to the crowd every night. So where was he? Why the scarcity? You had been so overcome with anxiety and worry that for the longest time, you had even stopped hearing the words of animals as you passed by- only hearing them when you focused. You knew they were speaking, you could still understand them- but every word seemed to escape your conscious. 

    You’re leaving the stables late one night when a flap of wings and and the sudden perch of a bird on a nearby wheelbarrow startles you. It’s a crow. He cocks his head at you in a manner you can only describe as curious, and a bit amused. His beady eyes glint mischievously in the low light.

    Hi. He says. You furrow your brows at him, confused as to why he would be here, talking to you like this. You’ve never met a crow that wasn’t out to receive something, despite how loyal the creatures can be once they attach themselves to someone.

    You’re the one who listens, aren’t you? He asks, and you hesitate, looking around to make sure the area is clear of any stray staff before you respond.

    “... Yes, I am.” You say quietly. He hops towards you, up the length of the wheelbarrow’s handles in an excited manner and perching at the very end, chest-level with you.

    You’ve been looking for the blue one. I’ve seen you lingering. He says, and the words give your heart a bit of a jump-start.

    “Do you know where he is?” You ask immediately, a little louder than you had meant to. The crow jumps a bit in surprise at your eagerness, before he relaxes with a sound that sounds much like a laugh you swear you had heard before.

    Do I? Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t. The crow says, cocking his head at you again. What are you willing to give me in return? The nerve of this corvid! A spark of anger ignites within you, and you have to hold yourself back from wringing the poor thing's neck. You had never, ever met a crow that wasn’t out to get something, but this one in particular was more infuriating than any other crow you had ever met.

    “Don’t play games with me, crow. This isn’t a playful matter!” You spit, venomous words causing the crow to cry out and flap his wings, jumping away from you.

    Sheesh! Alright, alright. Can’t blame a bird for trying. He says, casually preening his chest feathers in a way that feels entirely to sarcastic. You’re lucky that he’s treated me well in the past. You begin to ask what that was supposed to mean, but knowing Kurt, you wouldn't doubt that he was sneaking meals to other animals besides the horses.  When the crow is finished preening, he ruffles his feathers and hops back down the wheelbarrow.

    Follow me.

    The crow leads you around the circus. Through dark walkways and creepy storage carts, and you begin to wonder more and more where on earth he was taking you- desperate for any clue about Kurt but still distrustful of the creature ahead of you. Eventually, he leads you to the cages where the exotic animals were kept when not in practice or performing. You take extra care to be as silent as a mouse as you walk through the rows and rows of cages each animal is kept in. You’re confused as to why the crow would take you here of all places, but if there was any hope in finding Kurt….

    The crow lands on top of a cage up ahead, and you recognize that it seems to be a fairly new one- cool steel and iron bars unpainted compared to the rest of them- which were colored brightly in a way you can only assume was to make it seem like they were much kinder and better suited to the animals that they contained- happy colors equal happy creatures, right? Wrong. You can see a shivering lump in the cage, but it’s so dark out that you can’t seem to figure out just what it was. The poor thing hardly had a blanket or a cushion to keep it warm, and as you get closer, you spot dark skin, a devilish tail, and eventually, you see pointed ears too.

    Oh god.

    The creature before you wasn’t an it, it was a him. Your him. 

    “Kurt?” His head lifts only slightly, loling to the side, and you know something is very, very wrong. You’re panicked as you frantically search your pockets for the cage’s skeleton key, the one the trainers had given to you, and your hands are shaking when you open the lock. The lock. They locked him in there. When you’re inside, you fall to your knees, holding Kurt’s face in your hands. His eyes are slowly blinking open like the action is taking all of his effort. He groans in a drowsy discomfort.

    “What have they done? What’s happened to you?” You ask, hands shaking as you brush the hair out of his face. This time, when his eyes blink open, they look at you- although a bit hazy and unfocused.

    “You came to see me…” He says, face slowly morphing into a smile as he leans into your touch. It breaks your heart. Absolutely shatters it. Dear god- What had they done to him for him to be so- so-

    “Kurt, I need you to focus, please.” You say, your voice breaking as you begin to tear up. Kurt doesn’t respond, leaning further into you to where his head is basically in your lap. Your hands have been running through his hair in a way you can't even call soothing, a nervous tick beginning to form as your mind races. You’re nearly hyperventilating now as you call his name, trying to get him to wake up- to look at you.

    They’ve been sedating him. 

    The sound of the low rumble nearly startles you. You look up with blurry eyes, and in the cage across from Kurt is Nyla, the circus’ trained tiger, stretched out and resting her head on her crossed front paws. Her eyes glint in the low light, reflecting back at you. You don’t even know what to say.

    They do it with almost all of us. Nyla continues a somber tone in her voice.

    “All of who, Nyla?” You ask once you’ve finally found your words, Kurt drowsily begins to mumble nonsense in your lap. Nyla raises her head a little.

    The attractions. The non-human ones. She says- and suddenly, you feel like the situation has become so much worse. Oh god, you were sure you were about to be sick.

    “They- they can’t possibly have. They raised him here- they know him. Why would they do that?” You whisper. It doesn’t make sense to you. This was his family. The only family he had ever known- and his strangeness in all its glory had never been a problem before. Why now? Why now would they treat him as an animal? As something to be feared instead of the son, nephew, brother that they had raised? Why?!

    Same reason they do it to the rest of us. Nyla replies, resting her head again. For control. 

    You swear that those simple words had plunged your world into silence.

    You look frantically back and forth between Kurt and Nyla, shaky hands still touching Kurt’s face as he sighs and leans into you, a bit of discomfort beginning to shine through, what you can only assume was the side-effects of tranquilizer. You had seen them use the stuff on particularly rowdy and upset animals, you knew how awful it could make them feel. You are trying so very hard not to cry, but you are slowly loosing the battle. You know you need to do something, anything at all, but you can’t seem to pull your thoughts together, not before-

    They’re coming back, They’re coming back! The crow caws loudly, grabbing your attention. You know you need to go, but you can’t leave him here. Not like this. You can’t. He shouldn’t be here. He’s human. He’s not an animal. He may look different- be a mutant like yourself, but you know he’s still human. Of course, he is. He’s your Kurt, and he’s hurting, and you can’t leave him here. You just can’t.

    Listen to the crow. Nothing good will come from them finding you here. Nyla says, and when you look at her this time, you are crying. Nothing good was given to his sister when she did the same. The tears sting your eyes and burn your cheeks, and you don’t want to go. You don’t want to leave him, but if you get caught, there would be one less person to help him escape. You know you can’t take that risk. Animals begin to stir as footsteps approach around the corner, and the crow anxiously hops back and forth on the top of Kurt’s cage, once again reminding you that you need to leave now. You look back at Kurt, holding his face tightly now as his half-lidded eyes slowly blink open and closed.

    “I’m coming back for you, Okay? I promise.” You tell him, tears falling from your face and onto his cheeks. He’s once again looking at you, but he seems hazed still, loopy and delirious.

    “Du bist wunderschön… an angel of my very own.” Kurt mumbles, but you don’t have another moment to spare. You press a kiss to his forehead, gently laying his head back down as you quickly leave the cage and lock it behind you, no matter how painful it is. You can’t help but continue to look back at his cage as you leave, the image cementing in your mind as you run from that place, the crow following close behind you.

    You had to do something, you were sure of it, but you knew it had to be soon. A pit had settled in your stomach again, and you knew that something very bad was going to happen.

     You would be right.

    The next time you saw the colorful tents of the circus, it would be in flames.

    You were frantic, having arrived that night with a plan to help Kurt escape, only to come face to face with your worst nightmare. Performers and staff were gathered a safe distance away, many holding you back as you tried to run into the flames, desperate and heartbroken over your friend. Your friends. The calls and cries and roars and whinnies of pain were more than you could bear. They were in pain. They were dying. After all the pain and suffering they had gone through in their life, they were DYING. 

    The nails of the hands holding you back leave scratches when you rip yourself from her grasp- the grasp of Kurt’s mother, Margali. She calls for you as you run into the flames, but you cannot hear her. You’re closest to the stables, and you fling open the door, pushing and shoving with all your might. The cries of terror ring in your ears as you open each stall one by one, urging each and every horse, pony and zebra to run as fast and as hard as they can. Bubbles is the last to go before the building crumbles, and then you’re running to the cages, praying, praying that the fire has not spread there yet.

    It had.

    You tried to open them, you really did, but it was too hot. The metal was burning your hands, the smoke filling your lungs. You cant see through the smoke as you try to find Kurt’s cage. You’re struggling, unable to see, the fire becoming too close and singeing your hair. A pair of hands grab you by the arms, and tugs you to a stop.

    It’s Stephan. He looks concerned and enraged. He’s saying something, but you can't hear him over the sounds of the animals and the crackle of the flames. The tents that were close by begin to crumble, and you look on in horror. He grabs you again and tugs you along with him as he runs. You cough and stumble and cry, and when he finally leads you out of the flames, he turns around to scold you.

    “What are you doing?! Are you crazy?!” He says, chest heaving. You’re coughing and struggling to breathe, falling to your knees as you sob.

    “I- I was…” You struggle to cough out.

    “What?! What was so important you had to run into those flames like an idiot?! The lives of any stupid animal aren’t worth losing your own!” He shouts, and you can’t find your anger through your absolute despair.

    “...Kurt.” You finally cough out. “I was trying to find Kurt. I need to- he could be-” You can't finish your sentence before you have another coughing fit, placing your arms on the ground to steady you as you try to recover. You’re jerked forward in an instant, Stephan having fallen to his knees and yankin' you off-balance by violently tugging you by the arms. You’re almost… Afraid of him, all in your face like this. He’d never been a calm man, but this rage was…

    “Kurt?! KURT?! That bastard mutant set the damn fire! It’s his fault! Let him die in it!” You’re terrified as he screams in your face, trying to struggle out of his bruising grip. No- no that’s not right. That can’t be. He’s a liar! He’s always been jealous of Kurt, He’s lying again.

    Leave them alone, Douchebag! The caw comes from your left as the Crow from before swoops in on him, dive-bombing his head and eyes. Stephan screams in anger and frustration as he violently pushes you away, swatting at the corvid as he attacks him. You watch as one swat connects, sending the Crow flying into the dirt. You call out for it, scrambling by the crow's side as you glare at Stephan, who begins to approach with a deadly look on his face. Every primal instinct you have is screaming at you. This is face of a killer. He’s going to kill the crow. He might kill you, too.

    “Stephan!” He stops in his tracks at the sound of his name, and you’re gathering the crow into your arms as Margali Szardos steps into view. Stephan huffs as he walks to his mother’s side, sending you and the crow one last glance. They begin to fight in hushed voices, leaving you an onlooker in something that seems over your head.

    Kurt escaped. The crow says from your lap. You look down at him in surprise, holding him gently as he makes small sounds of pain, injured from the hard hit. He’s okay. He didn’t set the fire. Not on purpose. My Mistress made sure he was okay.

    “Mistress…?” You mumble, watching as the crow cocks his head in the direction of the fighting family, and when your eyes fall upon Margali, It all begins to click.

    “Where is he?” You ask, heart thudding in your chest. 

    I don’t know. He says. He disappeared in a puff of smoke. I couldn’t find him. 

    The words have you distraught again. You have to find him. You promised you would be back for him, and you weren’t. You were too late- now many of your friends were dead, and all you could think about was finding the one person you needed to know was still alive and okay.

    We will find him. The fighting stops, and when you look up, Stephan is trudging away. Margali watches him leave, elegant as ever with a somber look in her eye, and turns to look at you, shattered and stained by soot and smoke, her closest confidant safe in your lap. She knows that you will look for him. She asked if I would help you- and I will. 

    Margali turns away from the two of you, disappearing into the woods behind her son.

    You had to find Kurt.

Gaaaaah I still have to take more classes, I wish my usual counselor told me ALL the classes I needed for transfer

That gum-earrings idea stuck to my brain so-

Plus morph, just morph

Benny Gecko taking what's not his.

I don’t think I thought my summer classes through….i might be cooked

pov you are a selfshipper

mugshot. audio originally from dan vs

Wip I’ll never finish- I’m not used to digital :(

I love girling guys up tho!!

!!PROSHIP DNI!!!

Demo(for demo). I am working on this game I swear.