#Kurt Wagner deserved better

[soviet-supersoldier]

Well, Omega Red got name-dropped in X-men #9, which reveals that he is still locked up in prison here. However, Kurt’s dialogue is very unfortunate:

I shall indeed call you a poor mutant liberationist Kurt. You have seen what this prison is doing to people. Omega Red was an ally on Krakoa and a teammate to Wolverine. You are seriously going to leave him to suffer in this place? Why? Because you still think he's a "bad mutant?" You don't think he changed while on Krakoa? Whatever happened to seeing the good in people Kurt? Second chances? Belief in redemption? You'd think Kurt of all people would be decent enough to show kindness. Especially when cruelty is being shown to another human being, to a fellow mutant.

Like so many times before this, the X-men continue to show that they only care about their own core group, with no regard for mercy towards their less fortunate mutant brothers and sisters. At this point, it wouldn't surprise me if they ended up leaving Blob here too because of his past Brotherhood ties. Recent ties and character growth when former villains are finally given an opportunity to change simply doesn't matter, I guess.

You guys are supposed to be heroes, Kurt. To stand against injustice wherever it occurs no matter who is the one experiencing the injustice. This prison is enancting cruel and unusual punishment on its inmates. Are you going to let such a prison stand? Even if you don't care about Arkady, shouldn't you at least care about what this prison represents? What allowing it to stand will lead to? "First they came for the undesirables, and I did not speak out..."

Knowingly abandoning someone like Omega Red like this is only going to cause the little trust he had started to build with the X-Men on Krakoa to be shattered again. Omega Red values trust and honesty. That's how Sage was able to reach him and help him change. But with the way you're treating him now, Arkady is never going to trust you people again. And with the way X-men like you look down on him and treat him as undeserving of even the smallest kindness, Arkady has more than enough good reason to believe you will never actually care. You've proven time and time again that you don't.

What an incredible shame. You really could have gotten a powerful and loyal ally here if you had just taken the chance on him. He doesn't have to be a villain anymore, but you still insist that he deserves being tortured and left behind to suffer even while you hypocritically say that people in your special friends group don't deserve to be in the same place. So what? You're the judge and jury on who deserves to be saved or not? Are you going to walk through this prison letting certain people free while leaving the others because you don't like them? That's not what a hero does. You should know better. Shame on you, Kurt and Psylocke. Shame on you.

[kstarlitchaotics]

I'm sorry but I'm tired of my demon boi being labeled as a ho*ny pastor Kurt deserves better than that kind of content from his fans it's no different degrading than having s*xy female nuns

[urdreamydoodles]

X-MEN x FEM!READER

The X-Men Receiving a Dirty Picture from You in Public

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Rogue, Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier, Emma Frost, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Hank McCoy, Laura Kinney & Wade Wilson

Logan Howlett aka. Wolverine

You aren’t sure what possesses you to send it—not exactly. Maybe it’s boredom, maybe it’s the way Logan’s been gone longer than expected, leaving you restless. Either way, you know it’s reckless. The second the picture sends, you can already hear his voice in your head: Darlin’, you got a death wish? But you know Logan, know that he’s a beast caged in skin, and there’s nothing he loves more than being provoked by you.

He’s at a dive bar when his phone vibrates. The place is crowded, a few bikers at his table arguing over a pool game. Logan isn’t paying attention—until he glances at his screen. The moment he sees you, bare and sinful, every muscle in his body locks up. His breath hitches, his grip on his beer tightening until the glass threatens to crack. The scent of his own arousal floods his senses, so sharp he’s sure the few mutants around can catch it. One of the bikers nudges him, saying something about his "weird face," but Logan’s already pocketing the phone, jaw clenched.

He needs to get out of here. He doesn’t get embarrassed—not exactly—but the heat that licks up his spine is too much, too distracting. Logan swipes his tongue across his teeth, exhaling hard through his nose as he stands. His voice is a growl, all gravel and heat. “Got somewhere to be.” His movements are stiff, his body thrumming with need as he shoves out of the bar, barely resisting the urge to snarl at the people in his way.

The second he’s outside, he presses a number on his phone. When you pick up, he doesn’t say hello. His voice is low, dangerous. “You got no idea what you just started, sweetheart.” His free hand flexes at his side, his control razor-thin. “You better be home when I get there. And you better be ready.” Then he hangs up, already making his way to his bike, his thoughts full of nothing but you.

Remy LeBeau aka. Gambit

Remy is used to being desired. He knows the weight of hungry stares, the way people fall over themselves trying to get his attention. But you—you’re different. You make him ache. And you know it. Which is why you send the picture when you do, when he’s at a poker table, mid-game, surrounded by half a dozen people.

He sees the message light up his phone and, without thinking, checks it. The second the image fills his screen, his pupils dilate, his breath hitching just enough that the man across from him—some big-shot casino owner—narrows his eyes. “Something wrong, LeBeau?” Remy schools his features quickly, smirking as he locks his phone. “Non, mon ami,” he drawls, voice smooth despite the heat licking at his spine. “Just feelin’ a little… distracted.”

But he is struggling. His heartbeat is unsteady, his palms itching to touch, to grab. You’ve effectively thrown him off his game, and you know it. He shifts in his seat, stretching his legs out, forcing himself to focus. But his mind keeps circling back to the curve of your body, the way your skin looked in the dim lighting. His fingers twitch, itching to shuffle his deck, to channel all this pent-up energy somewhere before it burns him alive.

He doesn’t text back. No, that would be too easy. Instead, he waits until he’s out of the game, until he’s walking down the neon-lit streets of New Orleans. Then he calls you, his voice a lazy purr. “Ma belle, you really gon’ tease me like that?” He pauses, his smile slow, wicked. “Think you should be waitin’ by the door for me, chérie. Don’t want me comin’ in all impatient now, do you?”

Kurt Wagner aka. Nightcrawler

Kurt is used to wanting. He has spent a lifetime longing for things he believes he doesn’t deserve—love, touch, a home. But then there’s you, and you make him greedy. So when his phone vibrates in the middle of a crowded hallway at the Xavier Institute, he doesn’t think much of it. Not until he sees what you’ve sent.

His tail flicks so fast it nearly knocks over a nearby vase. A choked sound catches in his throat, his golden eyes widening, pupils dilating. He should look away, should pocket his phone before someone notices. But instead, he stares, heat rushing to his face so quickly it nearly makes him dizzy. The image of you burns itself into his mind, searing and divine.

Someone calls his name, and he nearly jumps out of his skin, fumbling to lock his phone. His three-fingered hand twitches, his tail coiling around his waist as he forces a shaky breath. Gott im Himmel, you’re going to be the death of him. He can feel the heat rising to the tips of his ears, can sense the way some of the younger students glance at him in curiosity. He clears his throat, tugging at the high collar of his uniform, muttering something about needing air.

The moment he’s alone, he teleports straight to your room, appearing in a burst of sulfur and smoke. His voice is hoarse, thick with something between reverence and hunger. “Liebes… do you have any idea what you have done to me?” He steps closer, eyes gleaming in the dim light. “I hope you are prepared to confess your sins… because I am more than willing to be your punishment.”

Scott Summers aka. Cyclops

Scott prides himself on control. It is all he’s ever known—containing his power, his emotions, his every sharp-edged want. But you? You make control feel like a curse. So when his phone vibrates in the middle of a team debriefing, he barely glances at it. Until he does. And then his world tilts.

His breath halts, heat rushing up his throat so fast it makes him dizzy. The conversation around him blurs, the sound of Logan and Ororo discussing strategy fading into static. He swallows hard, locking his phone, fingers tightening into a fist on his thigh. You are going to ruin him.

“Scott?” Jean’s voice pulls him back. He clears his throat, straightening his shoulders. “Yeah,” he says, voice just a little too tight. “I’m fine.” But he’s not fine. His skin is too hot, his thoughts spiraling. He adjusts his visor, as if that’ll help him regain some semblance of control. It doesn’t. He can still see the image burned into his mind, can still feel the ache you’ve ignited in him.

The moment the meeting ends, he heads straight to his quarters, his movements stiff, controlled. He doesn’t call, doesn’t text. Instead, he waits until he’s inside, the door locked. Then he pulls out his phone, staring at the image for a long, slow moment before finally responding: You just made a very big mistake, sweetheart. And you’re going to spend all night making up for it.

Jean Grey aka. Marvel Girl / Phoenix

Jean is used to knowing. She reads people as easily as turning a page in a book. But you—you manage to surprise her. When her phone vibrates, she’s mid-conversation with Ororo, standing in the bustling halls of the X-Mansion. She checks the message out of habit, and then—Oh.

The world around her vanishes. Her breath catches, her fingers gripping her phone tighter. Heat blooms beneath her skin, a slow, simmering thing. She locks her phone quickly, but not before Ororo arches an eyebrow, a knowing smirk curling her lips. “Something interesting?” Jean lifts her chin, feigning nonchalance. “Just a… distraction.”

But she is not unaffected. No, she can still feel the pull of you, the way you linger in her mind like a whispered temptation. She exhales slowly, steadying herself. You’ve always had a way of making her unravel, of setting her pulse racing with just a look, a touch. And now, with that picture—she knows exactly what you’re doing.

So she doesn’t text back. Instead, she closes her eyes, reaching out mentally, brushing against your thoughts with a teasing whisper: You’re playing a very dangerous game, darling. And you know I always win.

Ororo Munroe aka. Storm

Ororo has always carried herself with grace. There is a quiet strength in her, an effortless command of any room she enters. But when her phone vibrates, when she glances at the screen and sees you, bare and unapologetic in your teasing, even a goddess can stumble.

She is in the middle of the X-Mansion’s garden, surrounded by students tending to the plants under her guidance. The air is warm, the scent of rain lingering from a previous storm. But the second she opens your message, heat spreads through her veins like wildfire. Her fingers tighten around the phone, the wind around her shifting just slightly, enough for the nearby students to glance up in confusion.

With practiced ease, she takes a steady breath, forcing composure to settle over her. She locks her phone, tucking it away in the folds of her robe, but the image of you remains burned in her mind. She has faced gods and walked through storms, but nothing has ever made her this desperate. She exhales slowly, smiling at the students before dismissing them early.

Later, when she is alone in her room, she finally allows herself to look again, to savor. Then, with a smirk, she types out a message: You test the patience of a goddess, beloved. But I promise you—when I return, I will show you the consequences of such boldness.

Anna Marie aka. Rogue

Rogue ain’t shy. Not really. But there are certain things she doesn’t expect—like her phone buzzing in her back pocket while she’s in the middle of a conversation with Logan. She pulls it out absently, expecting a mission update. But when she sees your name, when she opens the image—her whole body locks up.

"You good, kid?" Logan asks, eyebrow raised as she nearly drops the phone. Rogue snaps the screen down against her thigh so fast she nearly fumbles it. "I—uh—yeah! Peachy!" But she can feel the heat rushing to her face, burning down her neck. Logan narrows his eyes, but she’s already stepping back, waving him off. "I—uh—gotta go!" She turns so fast her boots squeak against the floor.

She beelines for the nearest empty room, slamming the door shut before pressing her back against it, exhaling hard. "Mon Dieu…" she mutters, staring at the phone again. The sight of you makes her stomach flip, makes her hands itch with the desire to touch—even though she knows she can’t. And maybe that’s what makes it even worse, the sheer torture of it.

Her fingers hover over the keyboard before she smirks, biting her lip. She types back, her accent thick even in text: Ya better be waitin' for me, sugar. ‘Cause I got some real pent-up frustration I need to work out.

Erik Lehnsherr aka. Magneto

Erik is a man of control. He has spent his entire life bending the world to his will, shaping metal and fate alike with the force of his power. But when he sees your message, all that careful composure fractures like shattered steel.

He is in the middle of a political gathering, surrounded by dignitaries and mutants alike, discussing the future of mutantkind. He is calm, poised, his presence commanding the room. But then—his phone buzzes. And when he checks it—his grip on his glass tightens. The metal bends beneath his fingers, distorting under the force of his sudden, sharp desire.

He exhales slowly, willing himself to focus, but it’s impossible. His thoughts are consumed by the image of you, the sheer audacity of what you’ve done. He lifts his eyes, scanning the room, but the conversation has blurred into meaningless noise. He is no longer interested in politics. No, there is only you now, and the punishment you so clearly deserve.

Later, in the privacy of his chambers, he finally allows himself to react. He sets his drink down, removing his gloves with slow, deliberate movements. Then, he types a message: You are a very foolish woman, my dear. And I am a very dangerous man. I suggest you prepare yourself accordingly.

Charles Xavier aka. Professor X

Charles is used to knowing things before they happen. His telepathy grants him insight into the minds of others, makes surprises a rare thing. But you—you always manage to catch him off guard. So when his phone vibrates mid-lecture, when he absentmindedly glances at the screen—he nearly chokes.

His fingers tighten around the armrest of his wheelchair, his usually composed demeanor faltering for the briefest moment. He quickly locks the screen, but it’s too late—the image of you is seared into his thoughts. And worse, the faintest flicker of his reaction has echoed across his psychic link with you, letting you feel the way his breath hitched, the way his pulse stuttered.

He clears his throat, composing himself with practiced ease. "Shall we continue?" he asks smoothly, though his mind is miles away. The students remain oblivious, but you? Oh, you know. And Charles can feel your amusement through the bond you share, a teasing whisper against his mind.

Later, in the quiet of his study, he sends a message—not with his phone, but directly into your thoughts, his voice smooth, measured. My dear, if you wished to test my restraint, you have succeeded. But I fear you’ve also ensured that when I return, you will be left utterly undone.

Emma Frost aka. The White Queen

Emma Frost is not easily shaken. She has built an empire on her confidence, her ability to keep control in even the most delicate of situations. But when she receives your message, she very nearly gasps.

She is at a Hellfire Gala, surrounded by high society, diamonds glittering at her throat. The room is alive with conversation, champagne glasses clinking. She is draped across a velvet chaise, effortlessly poised—until she sees you on her screen. The way her lips part, just slightly, is the only betrayal of her reaction.

With a slow inhale, she tilts her phone away from prying eyes, locking the screen. But inside, her mind is already buzzing. You have nerve, sending this while she’s in public. It’s a power play, a challenge. And Emma does not lose. She takes another sip of champagne, a knowing smirk curling her lips.

Later, when she is alone, she finally lets herself look again, savoring the way you look—so tempting, so utterly hers. Then, with a slow, deliberate tap, she types: My darling, I do hope you enjoyed your little game. But let me make one thing clear—you are mine to tease. And when I return, I will remind you exactly why.

Wanda Maximoff aka. Scarlet Witch

Wanda has spent most of her life feeling like the world was just a little too unsteady. Magic crackles beneath her skin, her emotions tied too tightly to the fabric of reality itself. But when her phone vibrates in the middle of a very serious conversation with Doctor Strange, she has no idea the real chaos is about to begin.

She checks the message absentmindedly, but the second she sees you, bare and utterly wicked, the world around her tilts. The air shimmers—just slightly—like heat rising from pavement. Wanda sucks in a sharp breath, locking her phone quickly, but it’s too late. Strange is watching her with an arched brow, the flicker of mystical energy curling at her fingertips a dead giveaway.

“Are you alright, Wanda?” Strange’s voice is calm, but there’s a glint of amusement in his gaze. Wanda clears her throat, forcing her magic back under control, smoothing her expression into something composed. “Fine,” she says, a little too quickly. But inside, her mind is burning, and it’s all your fault.

When she finally gets a moment alone, she sends a message—not with her phone, but with her magic, a whisper of her voice threading into your mind: You have no idea the kind of spell you’ve just cast, my love. But don’t worry—I’ll break it soon enough. And when I do, you won’t be able to breathe without thinking of me.

Pietro Maximoff aka. Quicksilver

Pietro is always moving. His mind, his body, his thoughts—everything is fast, too fast for the rest of the world to keep up with. But when his phone buzzes, and he actually takes the time to check it, the impossible happens—he stops.

He’s in the middle of a conversation with Clint Barton, something about training drills, when he pulls out his phone. And then—bam. His mouth shuts, his brain short-circuits, and for the first time in years, he is frozen.

“...Pietro?” Clint frowns, waving a hand in front of his face. “You good, man?” Pietro’s fingers twitch, and suddenly, he is gone, zipping out of the room at impossible speed. The moment he stops—several cities away, in the middle of nowhere—he grips his phone, running a hand through his silver hair.

Then he smirks, his heartbeat pounding. He types back, quick as lightning: You are so cruel, bellezza. But don’t worry—I’ll be home in five seconds. Hope you’re ready for me.

Hank McCoy aka. Beast

Hank prides himself on his intelligence, his ability to remain rational in even the most unexpected situations. But when his phone vibrates in the middle of a scientific symposium, and he—without thinking—checks it, all rational thought leaves his brain.

His glasses slide down his nose. His usually eloquent mind is reduced to pure static. He should lock his phone, put it away, but instead, his blue-furred fingers tighten around the device as his brain short-circuits. A faint growl rumbles in his throat before he catches himself, quickly clearing it.

“Dr. McCoy?” One of his colleagues is staring at him, waiting for a response to a question he definitely didn’t hear. Hank straightens, adjusting his glasses, willing his heartbeat to slow. “Ah—yes. My apologies. I seem to have been... momentarily distracted.”

The second he’s alone, he finally allows himself to breathe. Then, adjusting his tie, he sends a message: My dear, I do hope you’re prepared to be thoroughly lectured on the consequences of distracting a scientist. In great detail. Preferably with a demonstration.

Laura Kinney aka. X-23 / Wolverine

Laura doesn’t get flustered. She doesn’t blush, doesn’t stammer. But when her phone vibrates, and she checks it in the middle of a mission briefing with Logan, something deep in her animal brain nearly malfunctions.

She sees the image, and every muscle in her body locks up. Her sharp, enhanced senses go into overdrive. Her claws almost unsheathe from sheer tension. Logan is talking, saying something about enemy patterns, but she hears none of it. The only thing in her head is you.

“Laura?” Logan’s voice pulls her back, and she snaps her phone shut, jaw tight. “Tch,” she mutters, shifting in her seat, pretending like she isn’t burning alive under her own skin. “Nothing. Keep talking.” But she’s not okay. She’s seething with the need to do something about this, now.

The moment the briefing is over, she finds the nearest exit, presses her back against the cold wall, and breathes. Then, she types—short, sharp, dangerous: You think that was funny? Good. Let’s see if you’re still laughing when I get my hands on you.

Wade Wilson aka. Deadpool

Wade is always unhinged. Nothing shocks him. Nothing catches him off guard. But when his phone pings in the middle of a mercenary bar, and he casually opens your message—his brain leaks out of his ears.

“Oh holy chimichangas.” His voice is too loud, and every thug in the bar turns to look at him. Wade barely notices, his masked face tilting down at his phone, staring. Staring so hard his mask is probably fogging up.

One of the mercs nudges him. “You good, Wilson?” Wade slowly lifts his head, his voice an octave higher than usual. “I have never been better. In fact, I am having a religious experience. Thank you for asking.” Then he stands—abruptly—phone clutched to his chest like a lifeline.

The second he’s outside, he’s already typing, fingers flying: BABE. BABY. LOVE OF MY LIFE. I AM ON MY WAY. DON’T MOVE. ACTUALLY, MOVE A LITTLE, STRETCH OR SOMETHING. MAYBE DO A LITTLE TWIRL. OH GOD. I’M RUNNING HOME IN SLOW MOTION FOR DRAMATIC EFFECT.

[bamfkeeper]

Bamf Who Cried Bamf.

RQ: 'Hear me out: one of the Bamfs gets hurt so you give it a lil extra attention and it just soaks the love straight up. Lookin all smug at the other Bamfs all curled up in your arms and being all snuggly-Next thing you know when you see Kurt and the Bamfs next all the little guys are pretending to be hurt to get special treatment.' - @dinogoofy

Pairing: Kurt Wagner x GN!reader | Warnings: Light description of injuries, I use it/he/they pronouns for the bamfs.

A/N: This is so sweet! I love the little bamfs getting jealous~ But I also like the idea of caring for one and it needing you. Unedited I'm lazy. | WC: 2.8k

The bamfs were unruly most days, their mischievous souls often getting the better of them. They were quite the handful, like terrible toddlers in their behavior and demands for attention, making them even more challenging to manage.

With teleportation powers at their disposal, these little creatures could appear and disappear at any time, often causing chaos in their wake.

Great. Sometimes you forget they can teleport.

Most days, you found yourself playing the role of 'mother hen' so to speak. Kurt often took on the role of playmate, engaging the bamfs in games and keeping them entertained, you were the one who actually took care of their day-to-day needs. This division of labor seemed to work well, with each of you contributing in your own way to the bamfs' well-being. Despite the occasional frustrations, you didn't mind your caretaker role.

As terrible as they could be sometimes with their sudden appearances and disappearances causing no end of trouble, they were equally as sweet in their affectionate moments. Curling up with them felt so natural to you, a comforting routine that brought joy to both you and the bamfs. You loved holding them close, feeling their small bodies nestled against you, and placing gentle kisses on their tiny heads. The soft purrs they emitted during these quiet moments were incredibly relaxing for you, a soothing balm after the chaos of the day.

The current day felt wonderfully lazy, a much-needed respite from the hectic pace of life you and Kurt had been maintaining lately. This afternoon of relaxation was essential, a well-deserved break from the constant hustle and bustle. The bamfs, ever-energetic, were engaged in their usual playful antics, either scampering about the room or deeply absorbed in one of the numerous activities you had provided for them.

You and Kurt had settled comfortably on the couch, your bodies finding that perfect position of relaxation. Kurt's hand moved in a soothing rhythm up and down your back, his touch both comforting and intimate. The gentle caress lulled you both into a state of peaceful semi-consciousness, hovering between wakefulness and sleep. His hand slipping under your shirt to feel your warm skin, soothingly tracing gentle patterns with no direction or meaning.

The serene quiet was abruptly shattered by a resounding bang emanating from the adjacent room. The sudden noise jolted you both from your peaceful reverie, your eyes snapping open in surprise. Your body tensed instinctively as you jerked upright, instantly alert. Exchanging a quick glance with Kurt, you both sprang into action without a word. You swiftly disentangled yourself from Kurt's embrace and the comfort of the couch, your movements mirrored by his own.

As you and Kurt entered the room, you were immediately struck by the sight of several bamfs, their large eyes filled with concern and apprehension. It was clear that something was wrong. Suddenly, the air was pierced by the faint, distressed cries of a bamf. Without hesitation, you found yourself instinctively drawn towards the source of the sound.

Venturing further into the room, your eyes were drawn to movement near a large, ornate dresser. A small, blue figure emerged from beneath it, struggling to free itself. The heavy, wooden piece of furniture had toppled over, trapping one of the unfortunate bamfs underneath its considerable weight. The trapped bamf’s lower body was pinned beneath the dresser, it struggled and pulled frantically, desperate to escape.

You immediately rushed to the bamf's aid, your heart racing with urgency, Kurt was right beside you. Kurt grasped the edge of the dresser and began to lift, the muscles in his arms strained as he raised the heavy furniture just enough to create a small gap. You reached under the dresser and grasped the bamf's small form, pulling the creature out from its trapped position.

The bamf's anguished wails pierced the air, its tiny leg displaying an alarming deep violet bruise and an unsettling twist. Your voice was a mixture of concern and urgency, "Kurt, look at his leg…" You gestured towards the injured limb as the bamf continued to emit heart-wrenching cries against your chest. Kurt's face immediately contorted with worry, his hands reaching out instinctively towards the distressed creature.

"I've got him, liebling..." Kurt murmured softly, his arms gently enveloping the bamf as he carefully lifted it from your embrace. The moment the transfer occurred, the bamf's cries escalated dramatically. Its small face flushed a disconcerting shade of purple as its wails intensified, mimicking an exceptionally irate newborn. Kurt's golden eyes widened in shock, darting between you and the bamf before swiftly returning the distraught creature to your arms.

You instinctively cradled the bamf against you once more, your face a mirror of Kurt's concern. "Shh, sh, it's okay, shh..." you cooed soothingly, your voice a gentle whisper as you began to rock the little one in your arms. Your movements were slow and deliberate, hoping to provide comfort to the distressed creature. The bamf's cries began to soften ever so slightly in response to your tender ministrations, though its injured leg still twitched occasionally, reminding you the poor thing was in immense pain.

"We have to get him to Hank immediately. He can make a small cast for the little one, right?" You asked Kurt with a furrowed brow, your voice laced with concern for the injured bamf cradled gently in your arms. Kurt nodded solemnly, his expression full of worry. You carried the wounded bamf out of the room, heading towards Hank's state-of-the-art laboratory. The atmosphere was thick with tension as the other bamfs followed in complete silence. Their typically vibrant bodies seemed to have shrunk slightly, a physical manifestation of their collective anxiety for their injured companion, perhaps some guilt swirled in their guts, but mostly worry.

Upon reaching the lab, Hank immediately set to work. His nimble fingers and vast expertise allowed him to craft a perfectly sized cast with remarkable efficiency, you expected nothing less from the scientist. The injured bamf, clearly overwhelmed by the unfamiliar situation, alternated between curious glances at the cast and apprehensive looks at his surroundings.

Hank's thorough examination revealed the full extent of the injuries: the little one's leg was fractured in multiple places, necessitating complete rest to heal properly. Additionally, a myriad of bruises peppered its small body, and several other minor fractures were identified. It was clear that the bamf would require an extended period of intensive care and attention, far beyond what was typically needed for these resilient creatures.

You carefully cradled the injured bamf back in your arms, a gentle smile spread across your face, the soft, blue fuzz of the creature tickled your skin. You were more than prepared to provide the extra care and attention this little one would need.

Several days had passed since the unfortunate incident, and a noticeable change had come over the other bamfs. Their usual exuberance had been tempered, replaced with concern for their injured companion. They watched with worried eyes as their weakened brethren spent most of its time resting on the couch in your company. The injured bamf found solace either cradled in your arms or nestled in the cozy nest you had fashioned from cushioned blankets, specially arranged for its comfort.

The bond between you and the injured bamf had grown increasingly strong. It had become deeply attached to your presence, emitting plaintive cries whenever you strayed too far from its side. Your nurturing instincts had fully awakened, and you found yourself constantly fussing over the little creature. You spoon-fed the bamf its meals, ensuring it received proper nourishment, even though it could fully chew and eat on its own. You applied soothing, numbing cream to its sore spots, your fingers moving with delicately avoid causing any additional discomfort.

The days progressed, the sweet blue creature seemed to crave your nearness more and more. It often curled up against you, seeking the warmth and security of your embrace. It bore a striking resemblance to a needy infant, completely dependent on your care and affection. Your instincts were extremely high and you couldn’t help but tend to it like it were your own offspring.

The bamf's condition was steadily improving as time passed. Initially, its movements were tentative and unsteady, but it gradually regained the ability to walk and engage in playful activities, albeit with a noticeable slowness and slight wobble. As the days went by, its progress accelerated remarkably. Soon enough, the little creature was able to crawl with increasing confidence, walk, and eventually run with newfound energy.

Your unwavering attention and care had been solely focused on nurturing the injured bamf back to health. You inadvertently overlooked the growing sense of jealousy emanating from the other bamfs. Their longing gazes went unnoticed as they silently yearned for your affection and attention. Even the injured bamf, who had been the center of your care, began to sense a shift in your attentiveness as its need for constant care diminished with its improving health.

The day finally arrived when the bamf's cast was removed, marking a significant milestone in its recovery. It was exciting for you and Kurt, and a big relief since that meant the bamf was fully recovered. Instead of feeling elated, the little creature was overcome with a wave of sadness. It couldn't help but worry that this meant you would no longer shower it with the same level of care and attention it had grown accustomed to. It gazed up at you with its big, expressive eyes and extended its tiny arms upward, silently pleading to be picked up and held close.

You sighed, knowing it was feeling a bit strange now that the cast was off. You responded with gentle encouragement, "Now, darling," you said in a sweet, soothing tone, "You've got to walk on your leg to make sure it's properly healed and strong." You helped the bamf down from the examination table, gently supporting it as you guided its feet to the floor.

The bamf, still clinging to its desire for continued attention, stubbornly began to walk around the room. Its gait was accompanied by an adorable pout, a clear indication of its reluctance to accept that its leg was indeed healed and no longer required your constant care.

You smiled at the bamf, despite its apparent distress. You reasoned that it was likely just adjusting to life without the cast. It began to slowly engage in play once more, albeit with a noticeable reservation in its demeanor. Occasionally it would emit a plaintive cry in your direction, seeking your comfort. However, Kurt gently reminded you of the importance of allowing it to regain independence. "Liebling, there's no need to coddle it anymore," he explained softly. "Hank said it’s important to let it become accustomed to moving freely now that the cast has been removed. It's just part of the recovery process."

"I understand, I really do," you replied, your voice tinged with concern. "But... just look at him over there. He seems so isolated." Your gaze drifted to where the bamf sat, a solitary figure observing the playful antics of its companions from a distance. The sight tugged at your heartstrings, making it difficult to resist the urge to intervene.

Kurt's expression softened as he followed your line of sight. "I know it's hard to watch," he acknowledged, his tone empathetic yet reassuring. "But try to see it from a different perspective. He's not necessarily sad - he's just... exercising caution, you know? It's a natural response after what he's been through." Kurt offered a gentle shrug, his words aimed at alleviating your worries. "He's alright, truly. There's no need for concern. This is all part of his journey back to full health and confidence." He grinned, his tail curling around your ankle affectionately.

A few days later, you began to notice a peculiar change in its behavior. The small bamf seemed to be constantly in distress, it would cry out frequently, its voice filled with what appeared to be genuine anguish, and it seemed to have become remarkably accident-prone. The bamf would wail and whine, calling for you specifically, its voice tinged with desperation. Your natural response was to rush to its side, gently cradling the seemingly distressed creature in your arms. You'd whisper soothing words, trying to calm its apparent fears and alleviate its discomfort, always ensuring it was physically unharmed.

However, these incidents of minor injuries and emotional outbursts continued to occur with alarming regularity, causing your worry to deepen with each passing day. The bamf's cries for attention grew more frequent and intense, with large, glistening tears streaming down its fuzzy cheeks as you held it close, attempting to provide comfort and reassurance.

Kurt, however, maintained a skeptical stance throughout these occurrences. His suspicions were aroused by the bamf's behavior, which seemed oddly calculated to him.

Kurt found himself crossing his arms, his gaze fixed intently on the bamf. His keen eyes didn't miss the fleeting, but unmistakable, prideful smile that the creature flashed to its fellow bamfs when it thought no one was watching. Kurt realized with growing certainty that those big, heart-wrenching tears were nothing more than an elaborate act – as fake as they were effective.

The bamf had masterfully crafted this performance, taking full advantage of your nurturing nature. You, in your kindness and genuine concern, were simply too caring and empathetic to see through the clever ruse that the mischievous creature had concocted to garner your undivided attention and affection.

Those crocodile tears worked every time.

"Liebling, he's faking it," Kurt attempted to explain, his brow furrowing as he gazed at you with concern. "He's not actually hurt; he's perfectly fine. Have you ever seen any of these supposed accidents?" He inquired, his voice tinged with a hint of skepticism. In response, you found yourself slowly shaking your head, uncertainty creeping into your expression.

"Well, no..." you admitted hesitantly, your own frown deepening as you considered his words. "But you have to remember, he's only recently recovered from a serious injury! There's a possibility that he could be experiencing some lingering effects or complications," you reasoned, your voice filled with genuine concern for the little creature's well-being.

Kurt's expression softened slightly, but the puzzlement remained evident in his eyes. "I'm struggling to understand why he would engage in such behavior," he mused, his gaze shifting to the bamf nestled in your arms. With a gentle but firm tone, he addressed the small creature directly. "Now, listen carefully, little one. This deception cannot continue. I believe I understand why you are behaving this way…you enjoy the attention and care that liebe lavishes upon you, don't you? I must admit, I too appreciate when they tend to me with such devotion." Kurt carefully lifted the bamf from your embrace, and to your surprise, the little creature offered no resistance.

The bamf's large, expressive eyes blinked up at Kurt, a mixture of guilt and sadness evident in its gaze. It then glanced towards you, its tiny features contorting into a remorseful frown. The sight of its drooping ears and that unmistakable pout tugged at your heartstrings, silently communicating that the little creature had indeed understood the gravity of its actions.

"Aww, is that really what's been bothering you? You've been craving attention like you used to get, haven't you?" you cooed softly to the bamf, gently scooping it back into your arms. Your voice was filled with warmth, "Just because I'm not fussing as much, doesn't mean I love you any less, sweet baby."

You cradled the bamf close to your chest, feeling its small body relax against you. "I love you just as much as I always have, even if I'm not able to tend to your every need 24/7 anymore," you reassured, your fingers finding their way to its belly. You began to tickle gently, your touch light and playful. "See? We can still have our special moments," you murmured, watching with delight as the bamf's pout slowly transformed into a happy, toothy smile.

Kurt observed the scene with a sense of relief washing over him. It seemed the troublesome behavior might finally come to an end, which was a welcome development. Leaning in, he affectionately ruffled the bamf's hair, eliciting a small giggle from the creature. "No more crying wolf, you hear little one?" Kurt added with a wink, his voice carrying a gentle note of admonishment and obvious fondness.

"Bamf!"

A sudden noise from the adjacent room caused your heart to race, prompting you and Kurt to rush into the living room. Upon entering, your eyes widened as a sense of déjà vu washed over you along with that urge to nurture, coming back full force. The collective distress of these tiny creatures filled the room with urgency and concern.

You saw all of the bamfs scattered across the floor, their small bodies sprawled out in various positions. They were emitting pitiful cries and mewling sounds, clearly seeking your attention and comfort. Just like the first one.

No obvious cause of injury.

Kurt sighed, his hand moving over his face as he sighed heavily, "Oh, großartig..."

Thanks for reading.

*BAMF*

Dividers by @/adornedbylight & @/strangergraphics

Cover Image: Nightcrawler (2014) #5

[xplainthexmen]

Jay & Miles X-Plain the X-Men, Episode 450 - Live at the Clinton Street Theater

In which we celebrate our tenth anniversary by X-Plaining what may be the most reviled X-arc; you should not try this at home; Mystique is so much better than this story; Azazel is a really boring devil; Nightcrawler should probably be missing a hand; the Xavier School definitely does not have an HR department; and we would prefer that you not pee on Iceman.

X-PLAINED:

Nightcrawler’s (most recent) parentage

Uncanny X-Men #428-434

X-Men Blue: Origins #1

The X-Men, like, in general

Nightcrawler (Kurt Wagner)

Some narrative choices

Mystique

Baron Christian Wagner

Marvel Europe

Azazel

Church sex

Nightstreaker

Isla des Demonas

Foibles of Warren Kenneth Worthington III

Annie and Carter Ghazikhanian

Abyss

Kiwi Black

The Cheyarafim and Neyaphem

Bad times with psychic therapy

Post-traumatic supervillainy

Uncool Hell

A miracle of magnetism

The only cool thing in Uncool Hell

A very elegant retcon

X-Muppets

Characters who deserve more page space

Miles’s favorite X-Person

What the Worthington Corporation does

A character who could reasonably be Azazel’s kid

NEXT EPISODE: Back to X-business as usual!

Check out the visual companion to this episode on our blog!

Find us on Apple Podcasts or Spotify!

Jay and Miles X-Plain the X-Men is 100% ad-free and listener supported. If you want to help support the podcast–and unlock more cool stuff–you can do that right here!

Buy rad swag at our TeePublic shop!

[intothewickedwood]

🐈‍⬛ 🌻 😇 👥️ 🎶 for the ask game <3

Thank you so much for the asks! <3 :D

🐈‍⬛ animal

My favourite animal is a cheetah! I'm just so impressed by their speed and how they run. If I had a mutant power, I'd want it to be super speed. So I want them to teach me there ways!

😇 blorbo

Right now, my The Wilds hyperfixation is so strong I can think of practically nothing else (oopsie). But yes! I love all the Wilds girls but Toni Shalifoe is my favourite <3. Honestly, she might have taken the crown of favourite character of all time at this point. Just gaaah. Such a softie underneath all that understandable anger. Cares so much for those she loves. I love her and all the layers of her character.

Before I watched the Wilds I got really into Legacies again (by finally watching s3 and s4). Absolutely obsessed with Lizzie Saltzman! Very relatable in some regards. Absolutely hilarious! Has so much pain and so many deep insecurities.

Alice Jones from Once Upon A Time, (my beloved) <3! A silly who has suffered too much!!

Chelsea Daniels from That's So Raven. She's so endearing to me. The silliest of sillies. Raven is a very close second, though.

Natalie Goodman from Next To Normal. Relatable in an ansty way.

Peter Simmonds from Bare: A Pop Opera. So relatable. A Cinnamon Roll <3.

Kate Dalton from We Are The Tigers. Sarcasm queen.

Vincent Lin From Adamandi. They may be a murderous blorbo. But they're my murderous blorbo.

Circe from Epic: The Musical. She's just so cool.

Draculaura from Monster High. Again, so cool and I love how much she loves her friends.

Chloe Sullivan from Smallville. Big influence on me growing up. Though I probably shouldn't have been watching Smallville at 9. She just cared so much about those she loved.

Simon Tudor from Jeopardy. His character development is everything <3.

Cloe From Bratz. The biggest drama queen ever and I love her for it.

Kurt Wagner from X-Men Evolution (and just x-men in general). He's such a silly guy.

Shalimar Fox from Mutant X. The most badass, protective queen to ever.

And that's all I can think of, but they're in no particular order. Except Toni. Toni gets the number 1 blorbo badge.

🌻 flower

I don't know much about flowers but I really like the look of Plumeria.

👥️ otp

So many! I shall limit myself to one per show.

Shoni!! (from The Wilds). I think they have made it to number 1 otp status!

Snowing from Once Upon A Time. But also shout out to Curious Archer!

Mizzie from Legacies! Still can't believe they got to be endgame!! I thought it was just gonna be hopes and dreams but the way I screamed my head off!! I love an unrequited love storyline but I love it even more when it then becomes requited. He thought the world of her and then she realised she felt the same about him too and it was beautiful and I cried (and screamed).

Natalie x Henry from Next To Normal. He's just so supportive of her and would do anything to make sure she's okay and that makes me want to cry into my cereal.

Peter x Jason from Bare: A Pop Opera. Everything hurts. But their chemistry was of the charts and they were so in love and I am in pain.

Cheer Wives from We Are The Tigers. They were sooooo bad for each other but needed each other? It was a mess but I was so very there for it.

Quincent from Adamandi. I am once again in so much pain. I can't get over how beautiful the lyrics they sang were when referencing each other.

Freffy from Skins. The way he cared for Effy D,:. He would haved moved mountains just to make her smile. My heart will forever be broken over what happened to Freddie. He deserved so much better.

Dracudeen. Just the whole of 'This is Not How Or Story Goes.' There was no hetrosexual explanation for that and Clawdeen nearly died to save her!

Chlark from Smallville. Next to Simon x Chrissie, they were one of my first otps. No one did friendship like them. But I always wanted it to be more. That whole unrequited thing that was never really given a chance to become requited.

Edited to add: Chlavis! I now one cannot have 2 otps that include the same character but I always go back and forth between which I like best. Chlavis' story was so intense and traumatic but at least it ended up being requited this time around! Extremely requited!

Simon x Chrissie. Tfw the two most terrible people you'd never wanted to be stranded in the wilderness with have the most beautiful, unrushed character development and learn to care for people other than themselves as they slowly fall in love, when there was merely the shallowest one-sided crush you ever did see there before. The way they became heroes <3. And the way Simon just didn't know how to be without Chrissie but persisted in trying to save her when chances were beyond slim. I miss them so much and need to rewatch <3.

Harlan x Cyrus. They had so much chemistry and genuinely had a connection and now we'll never know what happened to them. I wish we got to know them better. Darn you Amazon!

Cloe x Jade from Bratz. It was more of a case of all the unwritten fanfiction I had in my head for them as an 11 year old. But I only let it get as gay as Monster High 2 at the time, which is actually very incredibly gay, so I don't know who my brain was trying to fool.

Lance x Kitty from X-Men Evolution. They had a really interesting connection and were drawn to each other.

🎶 musical artist

I mostly listen to musical theatre songs but my favourite band has always been S Club 7. I'm not sure I have an overall favourite solo artist. Maybe James Morrison!

Thank you again for the asks! They were such a blast to answer!

[spongebobafettywap]

I hate being a Nightcrawler fan, I really do, because most of the Nightcrawler fans left amongst the X-Men fandom are the most insufferable bigots I ever met. The retcon showed the true colours of many since they fully accepted and welcomed how far Margali got twisted into so Mystique and Destiny can be woobified but the worst came before the retcon because they were willing to forgive every terrible writing decision Spurrier subjected Kurt F-ing Wagner to if he went down Claremont's dead in the water parentage for the character... It's been dead since 90s FFS. They would forgive the cult leader shit, the Inquisition bs, the hypocrisy, the doubling as Spider-Man, the uselessness of his character in Sins of Sinister, his stupidity, his sailor mouth (yes he made Kurt drop F bombs like it's a Vivzie pop produced show), his unwarranted "mutti" to Mystique even before the retcon when nothing happened between them to make him call her that ever, the cowardice, ...

The fuck is the point of the retcon if the character got so broken by then that calling him Nightcrawler is an insult to what made Kurt Wagner special and interesting. He lost what made his background and relationships with friends, family and foes fascinating by the time Spurrier fucked up his origins (that are older than most of those reading X-Men today) so why would anyone be invested in a character that's just wearing a classic one's skin without the charms with arcs that sound like shitposts

Yup exactly. But that's how this fandom is really as long as white queer or racially ambiguous queer characters they can view as white get portrayed positively then who cares about racist storylines?

It's so insane how the Marvel Comics in the Late 20th Century did a better job with Romani characters than the ones released this century. Margali Szardos deserves better than to be written as a Mutant Hating Bigot. God it's like they were satisfied enough with doing that to Wanda based on a continuity error because Bendis can't be bothered to verify things before he writes we have to go through it again with Margali. Fuck Marvel what a garbage racist company.

Nothing I've heard about Nightcrawler's stories from when I stopped buying Marvel Comic Books in late 2014 made me feel like I missed out. I don't care about this cult leader, I don't care about him moonlighting as Spider-Man in the context of it being a story that's been going on for years at this point (it has a year max worth of story potential) I don't care about doing a convoluted retcon to his backstory after 20 years of an established one just to shoehorn Destiny into it because "that was the original intent" because apparently original now means "the idea I personally like the most" I guess I might as well start calling Super Mario Bros 2 the Original Super Mario Bros given that's how the line of reasoning for original works.

And like you've laid out it's not even just the Retcon itself which people will rush to defend due to their own biases it's a combination of poor decisions for years and years I'm a Nightcrawler fan so the writers for him should make me feel like I missed out on the years away but I don't regret it at all and that's good for me but it's not so good for them.

[dramatisperscnae]

10 Fandoms/10 Characters/10 Tags

DC Arthur Curry Dick Grayson Jason Todd Selina Kyle [listen i barely go here okay]

Marvel Loki Bucky Barnes Remy Lebeau Clint Barton Logan Howlett Pietro Maximoff [deserved better in the MCU gdi] Kurt Wagner Steve Rogers Thor Matt Murdock

Homestuck [don't fucking judge me >w>] Dirk Tavros Equius Nepeta Summoner Rufioh Dave Mindfang Dualscar Darkleer

Tolkien Faramir Aragorn Eowyn Boromir Gandalf Maglor Beren Turin Beorn Theoden

Bleach Kuchiki Byakuya Kyouraku Shunsui Ukitake Juushirou Hitsugaya Toshirou Kuchiki Rukia Abarai Renji Kurosaki Ichigo Ishida Uryuu Ichimaru Gin Hisagi Shuuhei

Genshin Impact Diluc Kaeya Wriothelesley Neuvilette Dainsleif Xiao Ayato Tartaglia Zhongli Alhaitham

Fullmetal Alchemist Maes Hughes Roy Mustang Jean Havoc Ed Elric Van Hohenheim Riza Hawkeye Ling Yao Greed Winry Rockbell Maj.Gen. Olivier Mira Armstrong

Final Fantasy Franchise Cidolfus Telamon Vincent Valentine Basch fon Ronsenberg Balthier Auron Gladiolus Amicitia Clive Rosfield Red XIII Noctis Wakka

World Mythology Loki Susano-o Hades Athena Cuchulainn Anansi Persephone Sigyn Sir Gawain [the arthurian cycle counts, fight me] The Green Man

Persona 5 Amamiya Ren Kitagawa Yuusuke Iwai Munehisa Arsene Goemon Akechi Goro Hasegawa Zenkichi Togo Hifumi Yoshizawa Sumire Sakura Sojirou

tagged by: @defectivexfragmented tagging: @arobinwithoutbatman, @normaltothemax, @cxpedcrusxder, @perditos, and I honestly cannot be bothered to tag six more people, steal it if you wanna >w>

[urdreamydoodles]

X-Men x Reader (Part.1)

You tell them that they are perfect just the way they are (Part.1)

Your partner opens up about their insecurities, whether it's feeling distant due to their powers or perceived coldness. Through loving reassurance, you help them realize that their unique qualities make them perfect as they are, deepening your bond with each of them.

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Erik Lehnsherr, Warren Worthington III, Bobby Drake, Alex Summers, Jean Grey & Wade Wilson

Logan Howlett (Wolverine)

The night was still and quiet, the only sound in the cabin being the crackling of the fire. You leaned against Logan, your head resting on his chest, his arm wrapped securely around your waist. He was warm, comforting, the scent of whiskey and cedar lingering on his flannel shirt. For someone so rugged and battle-worn, he always had a way of making you feel safe.

His fingers absentmindedly traced patterns on your skin as you watched the fire, its glow casting shadows across the room. Logan had always been a man of few words, especially when it came to how he felt about himself. You knew how much he struggled with his past—the wars, the loss, the things he couldn’t forgive himself for.

"Logan," you said softly, lifting your head to look up at him.

He grunted in response, eyes still fixed on the fire, but you could see the tension in his jaw. His past haunted him every day, no matter how many times you tried to remind him that he was more than the sum of his mistakes.

You reached up, cupping his rugged face with both hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. "You're perfect the way you are."

He stiffened slightly, his brow furrowing in disbelief. "You don’t know half of it, darlin’," he muttered, trying to look away, but you held his gaze.

"I know enough. I know the man who’s held me when I couldn’t stand on my own. The man who’s risked everything to protect me, even when he thought he didn’t deserve to live. You’re more than your past, Logan. You’re more than the things you’ve done."

Logan’s eyes softened, the hard edge in them dimming as he stared at you. There was a vulnerability there, one he rarely let anyone see. Slowly, he leaned down and pressed his forehead against yours, closing his eyes.

“I ain’t perfect,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “Not even close.”

"You’re perfect to me," you replied firmly, your thumb brushing along the edge of his jawline. "And that’s all that matters."

His grip on you tightened slightly, as if he was afraid to let go. Logan’s lips met yours in a slow, deep kiss, one that spoke of gratitude, of acceptance. When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours again, his breath steady but heavy.

"You keep me grounded," he said quietly. "Don't know what I'd do without ya."

You smiled softly, resting back against his chest. "You won’t have to find out."

Remy LeBeau (Gambit)

The gentle hum of the city surrounded you as you stood on the balcony, the night breeze warm against your skin. Remy was leaning against the railing beside you, the twinkle of the streetlights below reflecting in his red-on-black eyes. He had one arm casually draped around your shoulders, his fingers playing with the strands of your hair as the two of you enjoyed the quiet moment together.

You could feel him tense slightly beside you, his usual playful demeanor replaced by something more serious. Remy had always been a charmer, full of jokes and flirtations, but there were times when his insecurities crept through. It didn’t matter how much he masked them with his smooth talk; you could always tell when something was bothering him.

He exhaled a deep breath, his voice quieter than usual. "Sometimes I wonder what you see in me, chère."

You glanced at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

Remy gave a small, self-deprecating smile, looking down at the city below. "A man like me… I’ve done things. Lied, stolen, hurt people. Ain’t exactly a saint, you know? You deserve someone better."

You turned toward him, reaching out to take his hand. His fingers instinctively laced with yours, but he didn’t meet your eyes. He had never really opened up about the guilt he carried, but you knew it was there, weighing him down more than he liked to admit.

"Remy," you said softly, squeezing his hand. "You’re perfect the way you are."

His eyes finally flicked up to meet yours, confusion and disbelief written all over his face. "Perfect? Me?"

"Yes, you," you said firmly. "You’re kind, you’re protective, you make me laugh every day. You make me feel like the luckiest person in the world. You’ve made mistakes, sure, but that doesn’t change who you are now."

He blinked, the usual cocky smirk nowhere to be found. For once, Remy LeBeau didn’t have a quick-witted reply. Instead, he stared at you as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

"You really mean dat, don’t you?"

"I do," you said, stepping closer to him, your hand resting on his chest. "I love you, Remy. All of you. The good, the bad, the in-between. You don’t need to change a thing."

He let out a soft chuckle, though it was filled with something more raw, more real. His free hand came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he looked at you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

"Mon amour, you always know jus’ what to say," he murmured, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

When he pulled back, that familiar playful glint had returned to his eyes, though there was something softer behind it. "Maybe I am pretty lucky after all."

Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler)

The soft glow of the moon filtered through the window as you lay beside Kurt, your fingers tracing the delicate blue fur along his arm. His tail curled lazily around your leg, a comfortable silence settling between the two of you as you enjoyed the quiet together. Being with Kurt always felt like this—peaceful, warm, and full of love.

But tonight, something felt different. He hadn’t said much, his golden eyes distant as he stared out into the night sky. You knew that look. It was the look he got when he started to doubt himself, to wonder if he truly belonged in this world.

You scooted closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder as you let your fingers run along his arm. "You’re thinking again," you said gently.

He let out a soft, almost sad chuckle. "I cannot help it, mein Schatz. Sometimes I look at myself and… I wonder if I could ever be truly worthy of you."

You frowned, lifting your head to meet his gaze. His golden eyes were filled with uncertainty, a look that tugged at your heart. Kurt had always struggled with his appearance, with feeling like he didn’t belong because of his mutation, no matter how kind or loving he was.

"Kurt, don’t say that," you whispered, reaching up to cup his face. "You’re perfect the way you are."

He blinked, clearly taken aback by your words. "Perfect? But I am not… I mean, look at me."

"I am looking at you," you replied softly. "And I see the most beautiful person I’ve ever known. Not because of how you look, but because of who you are. You have the kindest heart, Kurt. You’re brave, compassionate, and you’ve made me feel more loved than I ever thought possible."

Kurt’s breath hitched, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find some sign that you were just saying these things to make him feel better. But you meant every word.

"You’re not just worthy of me," you continued. "I’m the lucky one, because I get to be with someone who sees the world with such kindness. Who’s strong enough to love despite everything they’ve been through."

A slow smile spread across his face, his tail tightening around your leg in a comforting embrace. "Ach, mein Liebe," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "You have no idea how much that means to me."

You smiled, leaning up to kiss him softly. His lips were gentle against yours, tender and full of love, just like he was.

When you pulled away, Kurt rested his forehead against yours, his golden eyes filled with gratitude. "I do not deserve you."

You shook your head, smiling softly. "You’re perfect just as you are, Kurt. Don’t ever doubt that."

And with those words, you knew that you had reassured him, just as he had always reassured you.

Scott Summers (Cyclops)

The sun had barely set, casting a warm golden glow over the grounds of Xavier’s mansion. You stood by the large window in your shared room, gazing out at the gardens as the last light of the day disappeared. Scott was behind you, sitting on the edge of the bed, his head resting in his hands. His visor sat on the nightstand, and without it, his closed eyes shielded the world from his powerful optic blasts.

He had been unusually quiet all evening. You knew why. Leadership weighed on him in ways that most people would never understand. No matter how often you reassured him, Scott always carried the burden of responsibility, constantly second-guessing his decisions, questioning if he was doing enough, if he was strong enough.

"I’m failing them," he muttered, barely audible, but you caught every word.

You turned from the window, watching the way his broad shoulders tensed under the weight of self-imposed guilt. The soft evening light cast shadows over his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw, the tension in his brow.

"Scott," you said softly, stepping closer to him. He didn’t look up, but you could tell he was listening. "You’re not failing anyone."

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Every day, it feels like I’m making the wrong choices. What kind of leader am I if I can’t protect the people I love? What if I’m just… not enough?"

You knelt in front of him, resting your hands on his knees. His eyes were still closed, his expression one of conflict and frustration, but you could see the vulnerability beneath it all.

"You’re perfect the way you are, Scott."

His brows furrowed, and he opened his mouth to protest, but you quickly continued. "I mean it. You’re always putting everyone else before yourself. You’re always thinking of the team, of what’s best for them. That’s what makes you such a good leader."

He shook his head again, his hands clenching into fists. "I don’t know if it’s enough. I’m not enough."

You moved your hands to his face, cupping his jaw gently, forcing him to feel your presence. "You are more than enough. You always are. I know you think you have to carry the weight of the world alone, but you don’t. We’re a team. I’m with you. Always."

His eyes squeezed shut even tighter, as if holding back the intensity of everything he felt. But after a moment, his hands came up to cover yours, holding them in place against his face. His skin was warm beneath your touch, and for the first time that evening, his body seemed to relax, if only slightly.

"You believe that?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I do," you replied firmly. "I believe in you. I always have, and I always will."

Slowly, he opened his eyes—though you couldn’t see them, you could feel the shift in his mood. His grip on your hands tightened, and he let out a shaky breath, as if finally allowing himself to accept your words.

"I don’t deserve you," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

You smiled, leaning up to kiss his lips softly. "You’re wrong. You’re perfect to me, Scott. Just the way you are."

Erik Lehnsherr (Magneto)

The sound of waves crashing against the shore was a soothing melody in the distance as you walked barefoot through the sand. Erik was beside you, his hand intertwined with yours, his expression as unreadable as ever. The two of you often escaped to this secluded beach, far from the chaos of the world, far from the conflicts that seemed to follow him wherever he went.

But even here, under the vast sky and in the presence of peace, you could feel the storm inside him. Erik was never truly free of his past. No matter how much he tried to distance himself from the pain, from the horrors of what he’d lived through, the weight of it never left him. And sometimes, you could see the way it chipped away at his sense of worth.

He stopped walking, his eyes on the horizon. The wind played with his silver hair, and for a moment, he looked every bit the powerful, unyielding force the world knew him as. But you knew better. You knew the man behind the power, the man who had suffered more than anyone should ever have to.

"I’ve caused so much destruction," he said quietly, his voice almost lost to the wind. "I’ve hurt so many. How can you look at me and see anything but the monster I’ve become?"

You turned to face him, stepping closer so that your hands were pressed against his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath your fingers, but the tension in his body told you how deeply this was affecting him.

"You’re not a monster, Erik."

His jaw clenched, and he looked away, as if refusing to let himself believe your words. "I’ve done terrible things. Things that can never be undone. You can’t change what I am."

You reached up, cupping his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. His blue eyes were filled with conflict, with pain, and you felt your heart ache for him. "You are perfect the way you are."

He scoffed, shaking his head slightly. "Perfect? You think I’m perfect after everything I’ve done?"

"I do," you replied without hesitation. "Because I know why you’ve done what you’ve done. I know the pain that drives you. I know the love you carry for those you care about, even if you don’t always show it. You’ve fought for what you believe in, Erik, and that’s something most people can’t say. You’ve fought for people like us. For our future."

His gaze softened, though the doubt was still there, lingering beneath the surface. "And yet, I’ve hurt the ones I love in the process."

You shook your head, your thumb brushing gently over his cheek. "You’ve made mistakes, yes. But that doesn’t make you any less of a man. You’ve fought for what you believe in, and I love you for that. You are more than your past, more than your pain. You are exactly who you need to be."

Erik’s expression faltered, and for the first time in a long time, you saw the vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show. Slowly, he leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as he took a deep breath.

"You’re too good to me," he murmured, his voice soft.

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "No. I just see you for who you really are. And that man is perfect to me."

Warren Worthington III (Angel)

Warren’s wings unfurled with a gentle rustle as he landed on the balcony, the moonlight casting a silver glow over the soft feathers. You watched him approach from where you sat on the edge of the bed, admiring the way he moved with effortless grace. He always seemed to carry himself like an angel in both name and appearance—majestic, otherworldly, yet burdened by something heavier than he let on.

He smiled when he saw you, though the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Hey, you," he greeted softly, sitting beside you. His wings folded neatly behind him, but you knew he was carrying the weight of something more tonight.

"Long day?" you asked, sensing the tension that radiated from him despite his best efforts to hide it.

He ran a hand through his tousled blonde hair, his expression faltering as he glanced away. "It’s nothing."

You tilted your head, giving him a knowing look. "Warren, it’s me. Talk to me."

He sighed, leaning back on his hands and looking up at the sky. "Sometimes I wonder… if these wings are more of a curse than a gift."

His words caught you off guard. Warren rarely spoke about his mutation in such a vulnerable way. You could see the way he looked at himself, as if the wings that made him so beautiful and unique were something he resented, something that made him feel less human.

"They’re not," you said softly, sliding closer to him. "You’re not cursed, Warren."

He glanced at you, his blue eyes clouded with doubt. "It’s hard to believe that sometimes. When people look at me, all they see is… this. The wings, the mutation. They don’t see me. Not really."

You reached out, gently placing a hand on his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. "I see you."

He looked down at your hand, then back up at you. "You’ve always seen me differently, but… sometimes I don’t even know who I am anymore."

You shook your head, moving closer until your foreheads nearly touched. "You’re Warren Worthington III. You’re kind, strong, compassionate, and beautiful inside and out. These wings—they don’t define you. They’re part of you, but they don’t change who you are."

He closed his eyes, letting out a soft breath. "I don’t feel perfect. Not even close."

You smiled, brushing your thumb gently over his cheek. "You’re perfect to me. Exactly the way you are."

Warren let out a shaky laugh, his wings twitching slightly as he opened his eyes and gazed at you with a mix of gratitude and awe. "You’re too good to me, you know that?"

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "I just love you for who you are. And that’s never going to change."

Bobby Drake (Iceman)

The snowstorm outside the cabin raged on, thick flakes of ice pelting the windows as you curled up by the fire. Despite the cold outside, the warmth of the flames and Bobby’s presence beside you made everything feel cozy and safe.

Bobby sat beside you on the couch, his arm draped lazily around your shoulders, his ice-blue eyes reflecting the dancing firelight. He had been unusually quiet tonight, and you could tell something was on his mind. Normally, Bobby was the life of the party—always cracking jokes and making everyone laugh—but when he was quiet, it meant something deeper was going on.

"You okay?" you asked, leaning into his side, your head resting on his shoulder.

He sighed, his fingers absently playing with the edge of your sweater. "Yeah, I guess. Just thinking."

"About what?" you pressed gently, tilting your head to look up at him.

He hesitated for a moment before speaking. "About how… people see me. How they always expect me to be the funny guy, the one who never takes anything seriously. It’s like… I’m just the comic relief."

You frowned, sitting up so you could face him more fully. "You know that’s not true, right? People don’t just see you as a joke."

Bobby shrugged, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "It’s just… I’ve been trying to figure out who I am, you know? I’m an Omega-level mutant, but sometimes I feel like I’m just… not enough. Like I don’t measure up to the others."

Your heart ached at his words. Bobby was so much more than he gave himself credit for. Sure, he loved to make people laugh, but that wasn’t all there was to him. He had depth, kindness, and strength that often went unnoticed.

"You’re more than enough," you said firmly, taking his hand in yours. "Bobby, you’re one of the most powerful mutants out there, but that’s not even what makes you incredible. You’re kind, you’re thoughtful, and you’re always there for the people you care about. You’re not just the funny guy. You’re so much more than that."

He looked at you, his eyes softening. "You really think so?"

You smiled, squeezing his hand. "I know so. You’re perfect the way you are, Bobby. You don’t have to be anyone else."

Bobby stared at you for a moment before his lips curved into a more genuine smile. "You’re amazing, you know that?"

You grinned, leaning in to kiss him softly. "Only because I’ve got you by my side."

He chuckled, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. "Guess we make a pretty good team, huh?"

"The best," you replied, snuggling into his embrace as the warmth of the fire and Bobby’s presence surrounded you.

Alex Summers (Havok)

The garage was quiet, save for the faint hum of the fluorescent lights overhead and the occasional clink of metal as Alex tinkered with his motorcycle. You leaned against the doorframe, watching him work. His back was turned to you, his strong shoulders flexing as he tightened a bolt, his expression one of deep concentration.

Alex had always been the quieter of the Summers brothers, less about grand speeches and more about action. But even though he didn’t always say much, you could always tell when something was bothering him.

"You’ve been quiet today," you said softly, stepping into the garage and approaching him.

Alex glanced over his shoulder at you, giving you a small, tired smile. "Just thinking."

You sat down on the workbench beside him, watching as he wiped his hands on a rag, his brow still furrowed. "Want to talk about it?"

He sighed, tossing the rag onto the bench and leaning against the bike. "It’s nothing. Just… sometimes I feel like I’m always living in Scott’s shadow, you know? Like no matter what I do, I’m never going to be as good as him."

You frowned, reaching out to touch his arm. "Alex, you’re amazing in your own right. You don’t have to compare yourself to Scott."

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "It’s hard not to. He’s the perfect leader, the golden boy, and I’m… I’m just the screw-up who can’t control his powers half the time."

You stood up, moving closer to him until you were right in front of him, your hand resting on his chest. "That’s not true, and you know it. You’ve saved more lives than you give yourself credit for. You’re strong, you’re brave, and you’ve faced things that would break most people. You’re perfect the way you are, Alex."

He looked down at you, his blue eyes softening as he listened to your words. "Perfect? I don’t know about that."

"I do," you insisted, stepping even closer until your body was pressed against his. "You’re perfect to me. And you don’t need to be like Scott. You’re you, and that’s more than enough."

Alex’s hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. "How do you always know what to say?"

You smiled, leaning into his touch. "It’s because I know you. I know who you really are, Alex, and that’s why I love you. Not because of who you think you need to be, but because of who you are."

His lips curved into a small smile, and he pulled you into his arms, holding you close. "I love you too."

You wrapped your arms around him, resting your head against his chest as the steady rhythm of his heartbeat calmed your own. "You’re everything to me, Alex. Don’t ever doubt that."

For the first time that night, you felt the tension leave his body as he held you tighter. "I won’t," he promised, his voice soft and full of emotion. "As long as I’ve got you, I won’t."

Jean Grey (Phoenix)

Jean sat by the lake, her eyes fixed on the still water as the last rays of the sun dipped below the horizon. You approached her quietly, knowing she had been seeking solitude for a while now. She had been different lately—quieter, more distant—and you knew it had everything to do with the growing power inside her.

You sat down beside her, not saying anything at first, just letting her feel your presence. The silence stretched between you for a moment before Jean finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever just be… me again," she said, her green eyes reflecting the fading light. "I feel like I’m losing myself to this power, like the Phoenix is consuming me more every day."

You glanced at her, seeing the fear and uncertainty in her eyes. Jean Grey had always been one of the strongest people you knew, but this power—the Phoenix—was something even she struggled to control.

"You’re still you, Jean," you said softly, reaching out to take her hand. "No matter what the Phoenix brings, you’re still Jean Grey. You’re still the person I love."

She shook her head, her expression pained. "But what if I’m not? What if the Phoenix takes over completely? What if I can’t come back from it?"

You squeezed her hand, your voice firm and steady. "You will come back. Because you’re stronger than the Phoenix. I know it feels like you’re losing control, but you’re not alone in this. You have me, and I’m not going anywhere."

Jean’s eyes filled with tears as she looked at you, her vulnerability laid bare in a way that few ever got to see. "I don’t feel perfect. I feel like I’m falling apart."

You moved closer to her, gently cupping her face in your hands. "You’re perfect to me, Jean. Not because of your powers or what you can do, but because of who you are. You’re kind, you’re strong, and you care so deeply for everyone around you. You’re more than the Phoenix, and you’re more than this power."

Jean closed her eyes, leaning into your touch as a tear slipped down her cheek. "I don’t know what I’d do without you."

"You’ll never have to find out," you whispered, brushing the tear away with your thumb. "I’m always going to be here, no matter what happens. We’ll get through this together."

Jean let out a shaky breath, her hands coming up to rest over yours as she opened her eyes, filled with gratitude and love. "I don’t deserve you."

"You deserve everything," you whispered, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. "And I’m going to be right here, reminding you every day how perfect you are."

Jean smiled softly, leaning into your embrace as you held her close, the two of you sitting by the lake as the night settled in, knowing that no matter what challenges lay ahead, your love would always be the constant that anchored her.

Wade Wilson (Deadpool)

You knew what to expect with Wade Wilson. His jokes, his antics, his erratic behavior—it was all a part of who he was. But tonight, as he lay next to you, staring at the ceiling in an uncharacteristic silence, you knew something was bothering him.

The two of you were tangled in the sheets of your shared bed, his body warm against yours. He was quiet, which was a rarity for the merc with a mouth. Normally, Wade couldn’t go more than a few seconds without making some kind of quip, but now, his silence spoke louder than his jokes ever could.

"Hey," you whispered, turning onto your side to face him. "What’s going on in that chaotic head of yours?"

Wade didn’t look at you, his eyes still fixed on the ceiling. He let out a deep breath, one that felt like it had been trapped inside him for far too long. "Do you ever… I don’t know, wonder why you’re with me?"

The question caught you off guard, and you frowned, reaching out to rest a hand on his scarred chest. "What do you mean?"

He shifted uncomfortably, as if the words were too heavy for even him to carry. "I mean, look at me. I’m not exactly Mr. Perfect. I’m loud, obnoxious, and, well…" He gestured to his body with a grimace. "I’m a walking burn victim with a face only a mother could love."

You sat up slightly, your gaze soft as you took in his scarred skin, his face hidden beneath his ever-present mask of humor. Wade’s insecurities had always been there, buried beneath the jokes and the laughter, but tonight they were closer to the surface.

"That’s not true," you said firmly, your voice filled with conviction. "You’re more than your appearance, Wade. You’re more than your scars."

He scoffed, finally turning his head to look at you. "Yeah, right. I mean, come on. I look like a melted candle."

You sighed softly, leaning over to press a kiss to his chest. "Wade, I don’t care about that. I love you for who you are, not what you look like. You make me laugh, you care about the people you love, and you’d do anything for them. You’re not just some messed-up guy with a messed-up body. You’re Wade Wilson, and that’s more than enough for me."

Wade’s usual bravado seemed to falter as he listened to you, his eyes softening beneath the weight of your words. "You really mean that?"

"Of course, I mean it," you said, sitting up fully now, your hand cupping his face gently. "You’re perfect just the way you are. Every scar, every joke, every bit of you. You’re the only one I want."

Wade stared at you for a long moment, his usual snarky comebacks nowhere to be found. Instead, he reached up to touch your hand, his thumb brushing over your skin. "You know, I don’t deserve you."

You smiled softly, leaning down to kiss him. "Maybe not, but you’ve got me anyway."

For the first time that night, Wade smiled—really smiled—and pulled you into his arms. "Okay, okay. But if you ever change your mind, just know I’m keeping the dog."

You laughed, resting your head against his chest as the two of you settled back into the bed, the weight of his insecurities lifting, even if only for tonight.

[morinotsume]

It was a good thing he was getting a lot more practice talking to kids lately, or else his head would already be hurting from the onslaught of questions Molly presented. Instead he simply compartmentalized each, categorized it, and answered as best he could. Hopefully she'd run out of steam soon. "Of course I'm still friends with Kurt and Hank -- Mr. Wagner and Mr. McCoy to you -- we've been pals since the very start. And yes, they both teach at the school. Hank's in charge of math and sciences, Kurt teaches theatre and sometimes a bit 'a tumbling-gymnastics stuff. Jube needs a coach to keep her from gettin' rusty."

Still smiling softly, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Well kid, that's what training is for. Think of it like gym class -- you'll practice, test your limits, figure out what your mutation's all about. When you got that sorted out -- then you start the real training. Not every kid who comes in here wants to be a superhero, y'know. Some just wanna be able to live a normal life." He knew full well that Molly and the rest of the Runaways had been doing their fair share of vigilante work -- mostly involving that weird-ass cult their folks were part of, nobody could quite get a straight answer about that -- but they were all still just kids and Molly...

She deserved better. Yes, her friends -- her family -- were doing just fine, but 'just fine' didn't always cut it. And while Logan wouldn't be foolhardy enough to say to her face that the only place she belonged was here, with other mutants, what she did need was structure. A bunch of kids couldn't raise a kid. Shouldn't have to.

He just sorta wished the rest of 'em didn't hate everything the X-Men stood for and that the damn Avengers hadn't ruined their one good chance of earning their trust. Runaways, indeed.

A hand settled on Molly's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I didn't. I had private tutors, but that was a long time ago. I still had to get educated, and that's basically the point I'm makin' here. Heck, they let me teach history. You'll figure out why, if you stick around."

⸻ ❝ Are you still friends with the cat monkey guy and the big blue guy? They're really nice. Oh! Do they teach at superhero school too? ❞ She sighs, folding her arms. ❝ An' do they at least have art class and stuff, or is it just the boring part? ❞

School could be fun sometimes, but no more superhero stuff until she was a teenager? She was practically one now! Almost! In a couple years! Besides, she was already a superhero. Wasn't she? ❝ How am I gonna be a good mutant if I can't practice super-stuff? I'm the strongest on my team. I don't have time for freaking al-ge-bra class. ❞

She pauses. ❝ Is there a class that explains what's going on with my body? Like how I'm so strong and if I'll be able to do stuff without getting tired soon? ❞ Another pause. ❝ Wait. You never went to school?! Do you know how to spell an' stuff? ❞

[lucy0but0not0really]

The fact that the number of people Mystique has thrown from a cliff is currently three gets worse when you realise two of them where her children.

[lavenderfool]

My dream is for legion of x to be dropped and never come back

[reyofluke-ocs]

ALL ROADS LEAD HOME --> X-Men/MCU fanfic Link: tba Pairing(s): Kurt Wagner | Nightcrawler x OC, background Charles x Erik, Wanda x Vision, Jean x Scott

The daughter of Charles Xavier and twin of David Haller, Charlotte Xavier has always been more comfortable working from behind the scenes, helping mutants get to safety, whether that be Xavier’s School or Genosha. After the Sokovia Accords, anti-mutant sentiments reached the highest they had been since the Cold War, leading to a rescue attempt by Charlotte to go horribly wrong and leave her the only survivor. Almost permanently benched back at Xavier’s School, she gets a chance to reconnect with the X-Men - and comes to realize that the two new Avengers, a Wanda and Pietro Maximoff, might actually be mutants... accidentally opening a can of worms that probably should have stayed shut.

tagging: @guardiansofheroes, @ocfairygodmother, @foxesandmagic. let me know if you have any interest in being tagged in my stuff! psd: mine textures: evey-v & jakepatt [deviantart]

[mcmusing]

Please, Erik and Raven are those trifling ghetto siblings that just dump their kids on the good brother's doorstep.

And don't tell me nothin' about Kurt not being confirmed as Raven's kid. Please, I see that daggon blue elephant in the room.

Peter likes Charles more than he likes Erik. Discuss

[fanfictionroxs]

The Chess/Paris Proposal of Cherik.

Erik holds out his fists in each of which he has a chess piece hidden and asks Charles to choose. Charles chooses his left hand and he opens it to reveal a white piece. Now I am just saying.. the other hand totally had a ring like legit RING and Erik thought that Charles would read his mind and chose that and Charles did but he wanted to fuck with Erik so chose the other hand lmao 😂

[chibubird]

Hey! You’re invading my personal space!

Screenshot redraw from x-men evolution, my favorite show as a kid