Perfect because it was so imperfect, and the limited viewpoint and confusion and desperation you weave through this...oh.

Bobby just sighs and doesn’t want to let go, because he’s never actually touched Warren’s wings, and he never realised they’d be so soft.

oh.

His eyes are a little lost, a little frantic, even though his jaw is lined with determination, wings quivering behind him.


I want to weep, but from joy and heartache and adoration...I really am in awe. Darling, don't you *ever* stop doing what you do.

And um...if you ever want to do what you do with Warren and Storm/Nightcrawler/Gambit...I wouldn't mind one lil' bit. Just putting that out there.