worthingtonwings-blog

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  HE’S BEEN SITTING IN HIS CHAIR nursing a glass of scotch. focused eyes narrow in on his hand as he swishes the amber liquid around in the glass. only he’s not looking at the drink, he’s looking at his fingers, noticing the deep blue that still paints his digits. he hates it. it’s another reminder of what he is --what he could be-- and another reminder that this transformation may not be permanent. what would happen if archangel reared his deadly head again? bobby’s in danger and it’s too soon for warren to know the extent to which “the professor” had fixed his mind.

  “over here.” he calls out, knowing full well that there was no stopping bobby once he had his mind on something. he sighs, rubbing his hand over his face and trying to create a facade of togetherness. “robes --yeah they’re in the closet by uh --by the pool. sorry i’ll grab one now.”

@worthingtonwings

Bobby’s only done this once before, and it takes a lot of effort. He knows where Warren is, so it’s not too hard to narrow it down. Shifting to ice form, Bobby slowly reaches out with his mind. The last time he did this he had the Apocalypse Seed in him, and it did the most of the work for him. To do this on his own means he has to expand his powers beyond any current horizon they can view.

But after about thirty minutes of trying, he can feel it. He can feel his mind in the pool outside, in the stream a few acres from the property. Slowly but surely it expands, like a virus he can feel himself infiltrating every bit of water. It’s not too long until he finds that glass of water he’d requested, and once he’s got his mind there reforming his body is simple. A man of ice appears in the kitchen, and quickly turns to a man of flesh and blood. “War?” he calls out experimentally. “I would love a robe or something. Standing naked in your kitchen isn’t my idea of fun when you’re in the middle of a crisis.”

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Because I spent a considerable amount of time doing this this morning.

Also because I STILL CAN’T GET OVER IT.

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Killed My Ass Thanks

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(Animated) Angel over the years.

Savior… killer… harbinger of hope or destruction. I am unsure who– or what– I am. But I’d like to find out

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i love my sons

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polarvortcx:

“Wrong Said Fred then, because I was right! It totally worked!” He grins brightly at the other. “Think that means you owe me your best impression of a rooster at an outdoor rock concert, War.”

“sarcasm, pal.” he teases. “although i’d love to be in the room if you ever did use that one.”

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what a good boy

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polarvortcx:

“So… you’re not coming back to my place to roost?”

     “well how’s a guy supposed to say no to that.”

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polarvortcx:

“Well is it working for me in the future?”

     “i’ve seen scott do better, ice boy.”

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polarvortcx:

“Well… I was thinking, you’re far too sexy for your shirt…”

“please tell me quoting right said fred hasn’t worked for you in the past.”

[worthingtonwings-blog]

polarvortcx replied to your post: What would you do if I told you my lips were a...

“It’s certainly a… ‘Wanna try something’ new kinda question, I guess…?”

   “i’m listening...”

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What would you do if I told you my lips were a nest?

     “is this a ‘safe place to land’ pun on me?”

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Since when did being a mutant become a crime, friend?

                                                                                                                        ** Graphics by @starkshop

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polarvortcx:

And it’s at that alone that Bobby steps forward to wrap his arms around Warren tightly. A good hug, one that he hopes shows his appreciation. His arms wrap around the man, just under the point where his wings connect to his back so he can pull him close tightly. There’s definitely no reason for that, not at all. “Shuddup,” Bobby mumbles, face pressed firmly between the other’s pectorals. “It means a lot okay?” he says as he finally looks up, chin rested now where his nose had just been buried against him. “I’m not that hot,” Bobby grumbles, now pulling away because he didn’t want Warren’s compliment being taken the wrong way by his body; which is kinda was. “It’s an ‘I’m paler than a ghost’ joke, War. It’s actually a red black speedo, it looks pretty good on me, even if the me part of me doesn’t look so good.”

   he smiles softly once he feels bobby’s arms wrap around him, returning the favor with a hug of his own. warren’s always admired the other’s openness and his heart was one of the best things about him. when push came to shove it was clearer than ever; bobby drake was the best kind of man and he’s grateful to have met him. the words “don’t mention it” go unsaid but they’re always implied. he’d go to the ends of the earth of bobby needed him to, whether he asked or not. “come on, i’m sure you look fine, drake --pale and all.”

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“Man at his best” ph by Arron Dunworth for Men Moments Magazine