#Endgame Prompt

[wigglebox]

Supernatural September - Day 2 | Identity

[loren91]

20. Movie

Finally, an excuse to draw Wilmon in a Ghibli film, thanks @youngroyals-events

[irondadmadlads]

Irondad Prompt #171:

Peter: Hey Morgan, can you keept a secrect?? 😉

Morgan: Yeah!

Peter: *whispers something to Morgan*

Morgan: REALLY??? 🤩

Peter: Yeah, really—

Morgan, running off: DADDY!! PETEY WANTS TO CALL YOU DAD!!!!

Peter: 😳

[justaz]

arthur and morgana go undercover when they head out to help merlin in ealdor bc if word got back to cenred that camelot’s prince and her king’s ward came into essetir without permission or a heads up, it could start a war. so merlin rolls into ealdor with three mysterious friends to help against kanen and his men and the villagers immediately jump back on their Village Freak attacks. stones fly and insults are hurled and buckets of mud and manure are dumped on merlin who in turn gets into more fights and comes home with bloodied knuckles and a bloodied face. arthur, morgana, and gwen seething. idk merlin angst ig

[heyitsyav]

"We dancing now, Barnes?" "Aren't we always?"

for @livingincolorsagain

[moritashie]

I choose to believe that once Tony Stark had Morgan, he was freaked out of his mind. Why? Well, his parental instincts were supposed to kick in once he laid eyes on her. Tony didn't identify anything like that appearing once he did exactly that. Neither did they start working after she fell asleep in his arms, or after they arrived home. They seemed to do their thing on Pepper, why didn't he feel something so very different and unfamiliar. Where is the thing that is supposed to ensure his child is safe and sound?

A few days later Morgan starts trying to take something dangerous and put it inside her mouth much like babies do. He instantly spots her doing that, and with a horrified expression in his face stops her. Pepper jokes "see? Your parent sense is working just fine."

That's when he realizes, he does have those. He simply didn't know that was what it was. The reason was pretty clear; he expected to feel something unknown to him before. Meanwhile Tony has already experienced that over the course of the previous 1.5 years.

He promptly loses his balance and breaks down in the middle of the kitchen.

[verfound]

FIC: "Of Lost Luggage, Shirts, and Other Things" (MLB; Lukanette; LBSC Lukanette Month 2024)

@lovebugs-and-snakecharmers is doing a Lukanette Month for September 2024, and we all just kinda tossed some prompts in the disco to compile a list?  We ended up with 71 prompts, so I decided I’d roll some dice to pick a prompt, do a twenty minute (ish, bc we all know sometimes they run away from me) sprint, and try to get some short fics out this month?

(This one is also kinda @rierse's fault, based on a prompt she dropped in the disco about someone wearing their own merch. 😂)

Read on Ao3

Prompt 69: Airport

Luka stared at the woman behind the desk with…honestly, he wasn’t sure what expression was on his face.  He was going for disbelief, but with how exhausted he was – and how long the last few days had been – it was probably something more akin to disdain.

He was, admittedly, probably doing a fairly decent impression of the Captain’s scowl.

It wasn’t her fault, he reminded himself.  She was just the messenger.  You don’t shoot the messenger.

…he was in desperate need of a coffee.  And a shower.  And some clean fucking clothes.

(And a T-S specialty, because the airport Cinnabon Crusher had bought him as an apology was still sitting too heavy and too much on his stomach, even nine hours later.)

“What…do you mean…” he started, slowly, closing his eyes and forcing himself to take a deep, calming breath, “…you lost…my luggage?”

“I am so sorry, M. Stone,” the poor girl said.  She looked like she was about to piss herself – which was probably fair.  He was still new enough that she probably hadn’t heard of Luke Stone yet.  Most likely, the poor girl just saw ‘Stone’, saw the VIP party his ticket had been attached to, and remembered the horror stories he was sure she had heard about Jay over the years.  She was probably expecting a wild crocodile to come barreling out of boarding, ready to chomp her head off for daring to lose a Stone’s luggage.  “It…it appears it’s not here.  It…looks like it might be in Barcelona?”

…they hadn’t been in Barcelona since the beginning of the summer tour.  How the shit had his suitcase traveled to Barcelona from New York, when the rest of them had made it to Paris just fine?

“We can have it back to you in a few days,” she said.  “I am so sorry, M. Stone, but –”

“It’s fine,” he said, his jaw clenching uncomfortably as he held up a hand.  God, he just needed to sleep.  And a shower.  And a clean fucking shirt – he’d smelled like bad Indian takeaway since New York, thanks to Crusher.  “Just…call me when you have it.”

He slumped away from the counter, rubbing his hands over his face.  A throat cleared nearby, and he looked up to find Penny holding a shirt up for him.

“It’s not ideal, but at least it’s clean,” she said.  “Until you get home.”

“They lost my bag,” he said.  There was a niggling in his stomach, an unpleasant reminder of…his eyes widened as he stared at Penny.  “…Penny.  They lost my bag.”

“I know,” she said, putting her hands on his shoulders and squeezing.  “Breathe, Luka.  It’s all right.  We’ll get it sorted.  Luggage gets lost all the time – it’s not the end of the world.”

…it felt like it.  Penny knew just as well as he did what was actually in that bag and how very important it was that it was not lost.

“Penny –” he started, but she shook her head and pushed the shirt into his hands.

“Go change,” she said.  “Go home.  Get some sleep.  I’ll track down the bag, and it’ll be back in no time.  Everything will be fine.”

“It’s a sign,” he groaned, dropping his head back into his hands.  “Penny, Gina flew out specifically to give me that…oh my God.  Oh my God.  Gina’s gonna kill me.  Tom’s gonna kill me.  It’s –”

“Stop that,” Penny said, swatting his arm.  “Go home.  Sleep.  Catch up with your…Marinette.”

…he almost smiled at that.  Almost, because as much as he loved the sound of ‘his Marinette’ she was only going to be his Marinette if that damn bag wasn’t lost, which it currently was.  God, this day couldn’t get any worse…Penny rolled her eyes and pushed him towards the exit.

“Change.  Sleep.  Stop freaking out – this means nothing, Luka!” she called as he wandered off.  “It’s going to be fine!”

…he wished he could believe her.  Usually, he would.  But he had too much riding on that damn bag – like the rest of his whole damn life – and he couldn’t help but wonder if losing the bag meant everything really was about to fall apart.

. : .

It didn’t take him long to change his shirt.  The other one – the one Crusher had spilled his curry on before the plane took off – went straight into the bin.  It was probably stained beyond saving, anyway, and it was just an old white shirt.  He could easily replace it.

But when he tugged the new shirt over his head and stared back at his reflection in the mirror of the airport restroom, he couldn’t help but think maybe the curry-stained shirt was preferable.

There was no way Penny could convince him that the only clean shirt in his size they had extras of was the summer tour shirt.  He looked like such a tool, walking around with his own face slapped on his chest.

He was not awake enough for this, he thought as he scrubbed his hands over his face.  Coffee.  He needed coffee.  If he was going to make it home, he needed coffee.

Airport coffee wasn’t always the best, but it was still better than nothing, so he found himself shambling towards the food court before making his way into the city.  It was probably for the best, anyway – he’d have a time finding a cab now, and the others were probably already on their way to their respective homes.

…like he would be.  If the stupid airport hadn’t lost his stupid luggage with the stupid…

He was going to be sick.

Maybe coffee wasn’t the best idea after all…

“Oh my God,” a voice gasped in front of him.  His brow furrowed, his expression scrunching.  That voice…there was something familiar about it, but he couldn’t quite place what…  “I love that artist!”

…fuck.

He did not have the mental fortitude to deal with fans at the moment.

“Oh my God,” he said, his voice maybe a tinge more sarcastic than he had intended, “yeah!  Me, too!”

There was a beat – a longer-than-necessary pause – where the person had grown uncomfortably silent, and he sighed as he shook his head.

“…sorry,” he said, rubbing his eyes.  “Long flight.  Yeah, um…he’s ok.”

He finally looked up at the fan, and his brow furrowed as he stared at her.  Large, dark sunglasses covered her face, and her short hair was tucked into a bright pink scarf.  She was dressed simply enough, in short pink overalls with a white shirt underneath – but there was something…familiar about that shirt.  Something that was trying to click in his jetlagged brain but just wouldn’t.

Something he felt he should recognize about the bits of green – leaves? – peeking out over the top of the overalls.

“More than ‘ok’, I’d say,” she sniffed, her lips turning in a frown.  “Though he’s kind of being a butt right now.  Might make me reconsider how cool I usually find him.”

“…that’s…fair,” he said, nodding.  “Again.  Sorry.  Long flight.”

“It’s a shame,” she said, sighing as she turned away.  There was a bag at her hip, and he would swear he watched it snap shut without her even touching it.  What the hell…?  “Usually, I’m a pretty big fan.  I’d even venture to say his biggest, though I know some people who would fight me for that title.”

She looked over her shoulder, and her cheek moved in a way that made him think she had just winked at him.  He blinked, his brow furrowing again as he tried to focus on her.  It was…kind of hard, when she was kinda blurry and there seemed to be two of her.

“Anyway,” she said, stepping forward as the line moved ahead of her.  “I’d heard his flight was coming in today.  I was hoping to surprise him, big fan that I am.  But traffic was terrible, and I heard I just missed him…and how bad that flight actually was.”

She heaved a longsuffering sigh, and he shook his head as he scrubbed at his eyes again.  That voice…

“So I thought I’d get him some coffee, but you see how long this line is,” she said, turning back towards him.  “I’ll be lucky if I catch him at all at this rate.  Don’t you – mmf!”

The pieces finally clicked into place, and he grabbed at Marinette’s wrist to tug her against him.  He bent her back, slipping her shades onto her head as he kissed her stupid.  Her hands gripped at his shoulders, and he would swear her foot even popped behind her.

“…about time,” she giggled at him.  He chuckled and shook his head before stealing another kiss.

“Asshole,” he huffed, rubbing their noses together.  “You were enjoying that entirely too much.”

“You’re adorable when you’re jetlagged,” she teased, her hand coming up to caress his jaw.  She frowned at the touch before tapping a finger against his skin.  “You need a shave.”

“Flight from hell,” he sighed, sagging against her.  “…forty-eight hours from hell.”

“Penny said they lost your luggage,” she said.  A throat cleared behind them, and she rolled her eyes before pulling him out of line with her.  He whined as they lost their place, but she leaned up to kiss his jaw.  “You know their coffee will taste like feet, anyway.  Let me get you home.  We can stop at my parents’ and get you some proper food.”

The mention of her parents had his stomach seizing all over again.

“…your dad’s gonna kill me,” he groaned, dropping his forehead on her shoulder.  “The suitcase, Marinette.  They lost my suitcase.”

“It’s ok,” she said, laughing as she patted his back.  “Penny said it’s in Barcelona – it’ll be here by tomorrow.  Day after at the latest.”

“No, but I can’t see your parents until I have the suitcase,” he said, shaking his head.  “Tom already knows – he’s expecting…I can’t…”

“Luka, Luka, hold on,” she said, placing her hands on his face to try and steady him.  She smiled as her thumb brushed beneath his eye, and he took a deep breath to try and calm himself.  “What’s going on?  It’s just a suitcase.  You have clean clothes at home – ones that don’t scream I’m an Egocentric Rock Star.”

She was teasing, he knew, but it still made him frown as she poked the face on his chest.  His face still scrunched as he caught her fingers.

“Hey,” he said, “I happen to love the person who designed this shirt.  Lay off.”

Her smile warmed, and she pulled his face back to hers for another kiss.

“She loves you, too,” she whispered against his lips.  “But it’s still a little tacky wearing your own merch, don’t you think?”

“If it was one of the other shirts – with the album logo or lyrics or something – it wouldn’t be as bad,” he sighed.  “It’s just because it’s the stupid tour shirt, with my stupid face on it, that makes me look like a stupid idiot.”

“Hey,” she laughed, hugging him tight, “you’re anything but.  Stop being so hard on yourself.”

“I lost my luggage, Marinette,” he groaned, pulling her close.  “I lost the ring.  How could I lose the ring?  I was supposed to hold onto it until it was safely on your finger, where it belongs, but now it’s lost in stupid Barcelona and you’re gonna say no and –”

“…Luka,” she said, her voice suddenly too-quiet with an odd edge to it.  He hummed, and her hands fisted in his shirt and tugged.  “Luka.”

She pulled back, staring up at him with wide eyes that had no right to look as beautiful as they did, not in the shitty airport lighting.  She tugged on his shirt again, and he frowned as she swallowed.

“What?” he asked, shaking his head to try and clear it.  She swallowed again, and he was distracted by thoughts of wanting to bite her neck.

“What ring?” she asked, and his eyes widened as his brain finally started to catch up to him.

…shit.

[cccami08]

Peter secretly film his and Tony's day in lab as memories making and after FFH he rewatch all that video again

[stevetonyisendgame]

A Second Chance: The Steve/Tony Endgame Prompt Fest

Whether you took part in the exchange and miss SteveTony already or missed out last time and wish you joined in, this prompt fest is a second chance <3

The prompt fest will run from July 7 to December 31, 2023. There are no minimum work requirements, and sign-ups are not required: you can submit prompts and fill prompts as you please! 😊

Here’s how it works:

To submit a prompt, send it through our prompt form and it’ll appear in the Prompt Collection sheet for others to see (the form and sheet will be opened on July 7). You can only submit one prompt each time, but you can submit as many forms as your heart desires. If you aren’t sure what your prompt should look like, take a look at the sheet for examples or ask us for help!

To fill a prompt, just post it to the AO3 collection when it’s complete! There is no formal claiming process; just make sure to include the prompt number and/or quote the prompt you filled in your author’s note or summary.

Both the prompt form and the AO3 collection will be open for the entire duration of the event (July 7 to December 31). During this time, you can send in prompts, view prompts in the Prompt Collection, and post fills to the AO3 collection.

Rules & Guidelines

There is no minimum work requirement, and any work type goes!

When you post your work, please include the prompt number and/or quote the prompt you filled in your author’s note or summary.

All prompts and fills must be Endgame-adjacent. Canon divergence and post-canon are welcome!

All prompts and fills must center on Steve and Tony's relationship, whether romantic or platonic. Since this is a Steve/Tony event, we ask that you do not prompt or fill poly relationships involving them and others, and Steve/Tony cannot be a side ship.

You must be at least 18 years old to participate, as some prompts may contain mature themes.

The foremost rule of our exchange applies to the prompt fest as well: This is a Steve and Tony friendly event! ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ We will not accept any character bashing or painting either character in a negative light. Any prompts or fills that do not respect this rule will be removed from the collection. Remember this is supposed to be a fun event celebrating their love!

FAQ

Multiple people can collaborate on one fill.

Gifting your fill to the prompter is encouraged but not required.

Combining multiple prompts into one fill is allowed, just remember to specify which ones.

You can submit and fill as many prompts as you want—there is no limit.

You do not need to fill a prompt in order to submit one, and vice versa.

Crossposts with other events are allowed as long as the rules of that event permit it too.

The collection will be unmoderated, so mods cannot guarantee real-time fill status updates in the Prompt Collection, but we’ll do our best!!

As always, if you have any questions or concerns, don’t hesitate to DM us, drop us an ask, or email us at stevetonyisendgame@gmail.com!

Love,

A Second Chance Mods

[messrsbyler]

byler moodboard

(feel free to rb and prompt this!)

[indigoraysoflight]

“Spicy food in India” | Caryl prompt

requested by @that-left-turn ❤️

~

Cardamom & Curry

Carol stared at the fish. They’d been in Munnar for three days, and Carol had already gathered three South Indian recipes to take home. She decided to try making fish curry for lunch instead of finding a local restaurant, but there was one problem. Carol had never filleted a pomfret before. Daryl was the one who always filleted fish in their home, but he was asleep, so she was on her own.

Henry and his dad, Ezekiel, had planned a trip to Kerala, South India and wanted Lydia to go with them. Lydia and Henry had been dating for three years, and Carol adored Henry. He was respectful – if a little spoiled – and he loved Lydia. She knew Daryl liked him too but was extra grumpy around the boy who was dating his adopted daughter. Henry and his dad travelled a lot and often took Lydia with them. But Daryl refused to let their kid go across the world by herself, even though their kid wasn't really 'a kid'. So, Ezekiel generously extended the invitation to Lydia’s adoptive mom and her adoptive mom’s platonic best friend, who also happened to be Lydia’s adoptive father. To say their first dinner together had been awkward would be an understatement. 

They’d been saving up for a big vacation for a year and a half now, so the timing worked out. Her catering business was going well this year, but Carol doubted they’d ever be able to afford this expensive rental. The luxury cottage was built with rustic stone and wood, and nestled on top of a hill, surrounded by tea and cardamom plantations. Ezekiel had given them the tour when they arrived, but the space was too big for her taste; she would’ve preferred a cozy but comfortable cottage with a view of the rolling hills. Still, she’d smiled graciously every time he pointed out an expensive feature on the property while Daryl sulked in the back. There was an odd tension between Daryl and Ezekiel, and she'd figured out why after what happened yesterday. Carol thought it best to stay with Daryl today and take some time to think–

“You tryna fillet the fish with your mind? Just gotta use a knife.” 

Carol blinked, realizing she had zoned out and she was still staring at the pomfret. “Is that how it works? I thought if I stared at it sternly, it would fillet itself.”

“Gimme.” He limped over and started filleting the pomfrets with impressive precision. 

“Show off,” she muttered under her breath.

His hair was dishevelled, and he wore cargo shorts and a faded tie-dye t-shirt that Sophia had made for him years ago. She pushed his fringe back to examine the cut on his face, held together by butterfly bandages. They'd been more generous with their touches lately – especially since they got here – but she didn't mind, and she didn't think he minded either by the way he leaned into her touch.  

“I’m fine. It’s just a scratch,” he said without looking up at her. 

“You’re lucky you didn't need stitches.” He looked up at her then, his eyes intense as they flicked down to her lips. She realized she was just running her fingers through his hair now and stepped back. 

She and Daryl woke up before dawn the last two mornings and, in a jetlagged daze, walked along the path through the tea plantation to catch the sunrise. They didn’t expect it to rain on their way back yesterday. She slipped and would’ve tumbled down the path, but Daryl steadied her, lost his balance, and landed in the tea plantation. Besides a large cut on the left side of his face, tea leaves stuck to his elbows and knees, and a sprained ankle — he was intact. His eyes held a fear she hadn’t seen in five years –  fear and something else – as he frantically checked her for injuries and then held her in his arms for a solid minute in the rain.  

“This fish isn't going to marinate itself,” she said in a chipper voice and mixed the spices in a bowl to calm her heart rate before smearing a generous amount of the paste on the fish. 

“That’s enough. Dunno if I need more spice.”

Carol smirked and batted her eyelashes at him. “But I thought you liked it when I’m spicy, Pookie.”   

“Stop.” 

They fell into the rhythm they had in their own kitchen. She sauteed the onions with the spice mixture while he squinted at the recipe she’d scribbled on a paper pad and started cutting the tomatoes – stopping every few seconds to pop a slice in his mouth. Carol took a deep breath and focused on the onions. Something had viscerally shifted between them on the long flight over here. She’d clung to him on the plane during turbulence, and after they landed, they kept reaching for an excuse to touch each other. She’d been so unguarded in the way she leered at him that Lydia and Henry had given her a knowing look more than once.  

“Where’s the royal family? I’m guessing Lydia is with them?” Daryl casually fed her a slice of tomato and then sucked the juice off his fingers. 

They’re gone, and I’m in trouble. Carol steadied her voice. “Lydia, Henry, and Zeke went sightseeing; they won’t return until after dinner.” It’s just us, and you keep doing that thing with your mouth, she thought.

Carol let the curry simmer while they stepped onto the balcony and lounged on the chairs, staring at the green expanse. The air was dewy and perpetually scented with a hint of cardamom. Sophia would’ve loved this place. She would be perched on the balcony with her sketchbook, scribbling away and absentmindedly picking at her nails. 

“Why didn’t ya go with them? I’m sure Henry’s dad will miss you.” Daryl growled and picked at his nail. 

The tension between Daryl and Ezekiel got worse when he limped on their way back yesterday, and Ezekiel offered to pay for a doctor to take a look at him. Carol knew he would refuse, and thankfully she had packed some first aid supplies because she knew this man too damn well.

Carol rolled her eyes. “I wanted to stay and take care of Lydia’s dad, so he understood.”

Daryl’s lips quirked up, summoning a flutter in her belly. What are we doing here, Daryl? She wanted to ask. They’d been tip-toeing around each other for years now. Or she thought they were. Maybe this is all they’d ever be – platonic best friends who lived together, who raised a daughter and lost another. Two people who let their touches linger too long, reached for each other when they were afraid, longed for each other when they were apart, and sometimes slept in each other’s arms but never crossed that line. Always something more, but never quite enough. 

“Surprised he hasn’t asked ya out yet.” 

Carol blinked at Daryl, wanting to point out the irony in what he’d said. Irritation coursed through her as the curry burbled away, and she decided to come clean about what had happened the previous evening. 

“He did after dinner last night.”

“What?” Daryl looked like he’d been punched in the gut; Carol tried to ignore the twinge of guilt and failed. 

Ezekiel had helped her load the dishwasher in the kitchen and asked her out before they retired to their rooms last night. He’d been a perfect gentleman – charming, respectful, and chivalrous. But all she’d thought about was how Daryl’s eyes had lingered on her lips before dinner when he’d told her she looked beautiful. 

“I told him I’ll think about it.” They weren’t in a position to anger their host, even though she felt that Ezekiel would accept defeat graciously and not put them in an awkward position. 

“Why didn’t ya say yes?”

“Why does it matter?”

Daryl’s behaviour was giving her whiplash. He practically undressed her with his eyes last night and almost launched himself at Ezekiel for complimenting her at dinner. Now, he was pushing her to date the man.

Daryl peered through his fringe, his eyes earnest. “He’s real charming, rich, generous, and clearly has a thing for ya.”

Carol crossed her arms. “If he’s so great, why don't you go out with him?”

“Pfft. Ain’t my type.” 

“What is your type?” Carol raised her eyebrows, ignoring the heat that crept up her cheeks as Daryl’s eyes roamed her face and lingered on her lips before he pried his gaze away.

“Don’t change the subject. He’s corny and a bit pretentious, but he doesn’t seem like an asshole.”

“So, that’s what you want then? For me to date Ezekiel?” Her voice wavered, but she held his gaze, her anger now simmering to the surface and prickling at her eyes. Is that what he wanted? Then why did he look at her like that all the time — like he was afraid of losing her? Had she gotten this all wrong? Did she spend years pining after a man who was finally telling her he was not interested? 

Daryl looked away. “I want ya to be happy. He’d treat you like a Queen and-”

“-I should get started on the appam.” 

Carol went to the kitchen before the tears formed in her eyes, hating the open plan of the cottage where she could feel Daryl’s eyes follow her. Her hand reached for the pink bauble pendant resting on her chest. After Sophia died, they’d grown closer and built a wall between them at the same time. But when Lydia came into their lives, the wall started breaking down. She hoped, in time, they could pick up where they left off. Now, she didn’t know why she thought this vacation would be a new beginning for them. Daryl was never going to see her as anything but his best friend. She’d waited too long. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Daryl loved watching her cook. Her hair was tied up in a bun; she wore a loose Bowie t-shirt, baggy sweats, and soft fuzzy elf socks Lydia got for her last Christmas. The aroma of cardamom and chilli lingered in the air as she poured rice batter on a pan to make the rice crepes they called appam. He wished he could walk up and wrap his arms around her, kiss the nape of her neck and see if he could taste cardamom on her skin. I bet Ezekiel didn't think this hard before he made his move. He sighed. 

Daryl didn’t know how many days he had left to savour her presence, reach for her hand when they walked up a crooked path and watch the sunrise wash over her freckles. She looked radiant last night in the blue dress that hugged her form and illuminated her eyes. He knew sooner or later, she’d meet a man who deserved her. I didn’t think it would be this soon. To think he’d hoped this vacation would give them time to figure out what their future looked like. Even if Daryl selfishly wished to be with her, Carol deserved someone who could offer her the world. Ezekiel sure as hell checked all the boxes.

Carol deserved all of this. Lavish vacations, a charming partner, and children who adored her – who were safe and in her arms. She deserved a comfortable life after everything she’d been through.  

Daryl’s work as a contractor was unpredictable, and renting a cottage of this size for twelve days was out of the question. He thought the trip he’d taken her and Sophia on to the Grand Canyon had been extravagant because he’d spent a chunk of his savings to upgrade them to a big cabin with a mini-pool. Now Henry’s rich father entered the picture and showed him up with one effortless, generous gesture and an offhanded “We vacation here every summer”. The universe could’ve kicked him in the balls, and it would’ve hurt less. 

Daryl walked into the kitchen and started slicing some red onions to soak in lemon juice because he needed something to do before his thoughts choked him. Carol’s eyes were far away when she held up a spoon so he could taste the curry; the heat from the spices hit him straight in the back of his throat and lingered on his palate. 

“Why did you stay after Sophia died?” 

Daryl coughed. “What?”

“You heard me.”

It didn’t even occur to him to leave after Sophia died. When he’d rented the basement apartment in Carol’s house all those years ago, he only wanted a cheap place to rest his head as he went through trade school. Daryl hadn’t expected to fall so deeply in love with Carol and co-parent her child with her. Before he knew it, he'd moved upstairs into the spare room, and he walked the kid to school every day and helped with her homework. He’d come to love Sophia like she was his own daughter. When she died, he and Carol had anchored each other through their shared grief over the loss of their little girl. Then, another kid walked through the doors, and they were given another chance.  

“I loved that kid. I know Sophia wasn’t mine, but she was.” He didn’t expect his voice to break as his eyes lingered on Carol's pink bauble necklace. 

“I know. But that’s not what I asked.” her voice was soft, her eyes crystal in the afternoon light – she was crying in the kitchen when he was busy leering at her. He wanted to kick himself for being an idiot again. 

Carol pinned him with her gaze. “Why’d you stay?” 

“Why didn’t ya say yes to Ezekiel?” he deflected.

“I’m not interested in him.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t love him.” Carol’s voice was a desperate whisper. “Ezekiel wasn’t the one who held me through my grief. He didn’t take my daughter trick-or-treating or scour ten game stores to find the obscure video game she wanted. He didn’t make her chicken soup with alphabet pasta when she was sick. He didn’t treat me and my daughter like we were the center of his universe-” Carol’s voice broke, and she wiped her tears. 

“Carol-” 

“-I thought we were on the same page, Daryl, and hoped we’d have a stroke of luck with the change of scenery, but I guess I was wrong.” 

Did she really not know? Had he not been clear enough about how he felt? He loved her so much he’d let her walk into a pretentious rich guy’s arms—shit. As he played the thoughts over in his mind, he realized how they must’ve sounded out loud. I fucked up. Words chased each other in his mind as he struggled to explain. 

“Our luck’s run out,” Carol sighed and turned to leave.

Before he could think too hard, he pulled her close and kissed her. Her lips tasted of cardamom, and her. Carol. A small part of his mind worried about her shoving him away, but instead, she melted in his embrace and drew him in for more. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His lips were softer than she’d imagined. He kissed her deeply and slowly like he had all the time in the world. His hands were everywhere – caressing her face, gripping her waist, tangled in her hair – like he was tracing her silhouette in his memory. When they came up for air, her mind was molasses, and her thoughts returned to her slowly. He traced her jawline with a featherlight touch and looked at her like he worried she would disappear. Carol blinked away the tears and ran a finger alongside the butterfly bandages on his face. Their eyes met, and he held her hand to his cheek and kissed it. 

“Why’d you stay?” she asked again. 

“I stayed because I belong with you.”

There was nothing else she could say but kiss him again and wonder why she hadn’t done it sooner. 

“Why did you tell me to date Ezekiel?” she asked between kisses. 

“I’m an idiot.” He kissed her back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After their make-out session, they took a quick break to catch a breath and have lunch – a bowl of fish curry with rice crepes or appam. They’d been eating spicy food for days, and he always regretted it in the morning, but that didn't stop him. He dove in immediately, savouring every bite as the sharp taste of chilli and cardamom hit his palate. Sooo good. He could still taste the fish, and it melted in his mouth. He couldn’t slow down if he tried, so he helped himself to a red onion slice soaked in lemon juice and hummed as the acid cut through the savoury richness of the curry.

Carol watched him with a smile – her gaze soft and open. Most of her hair had escaped the bun, her cheeks were flushed, and her lips looked swollen and kissable. His brain short-circuited; he didn’t know whether to continue eating the curry or kiss her. She solved his problem by scooping some fish with the appam and feeding it to him; Daryl held her gaze as he ate and licked the pads of her fingers with his tongue. 

He didn’t know which one of them closed the gap. He didn’t care because he was kissing the woman he loved. His hands pulled her close, and her fingers grabbed his hair as they stumbled toward her bedroom. The taste of cardamon and curry lingered on his tongue as he pressed openmouthed kisses to her neck.   

“Your lips taste spicy, Pookie.” 

“Thought you like it when I’m spicy.”

Her laughter bounced off the walls as he kicked the bedroom door shut behind him. 

_________________________________________________________

A few notes: 

Munnar: Munnar is a hillstation in India’s Kerala state. It's surrounded by rolling hills dotted with tea, coffee, and cardamom plantations.

Appam: Appam is a thin and lacy fermented rice pancake. Traditionally, it’s eaten with stew or coconut chutney. 

Pomfret: This delicate white fish is a staple in coastal regions of India.  

Fish curry recipe for the curious minds (if you plan on making it, please don’t forget to marinate your protein). 

[thatmexisaurusrex]

Sambucky for the prompt thingie, sitting in their lap 🥰

From these prompts

Oooh, nice choice 👀 What about a little post-endgame fic?

Sitting in His Lap

The quinjet jostled.

And.

Sam was usually pretty good on his feet. He had very good balance. He was a gymnast once.

But.

At the same time.

Sam was drunk. He was drunk and they had just saved the world, the universe, and he had only wandered into the quinjet to get a little breather from the party outside.

Sam had expected to land on the bench of seating inside the quinjet. What he found was something much softer.

"Sam?"

Oh.

"Bucky?" asked Sam, turning to face the man he had just - well.

Fell into the lap of. Literally. Buck stared at Sam with those intense eyes of his and - and Sam couldn't breathe. He couldn't look away. It was like that European Tour all over again; the small moments of almost. It was like the brief rest times Sam had in Birnin Zana; the touch, the closeness that was all Sam wanted when they were alone. It was like when those lips almost met his right before that final battle.

"Looking for a place to escape the party for a while too?" murmured Bucky softly, his gaze flittering between Sam's eyes and Sam's mouth.

Sam.

Wrapped his arms around Bucky's neck.

Because.

They just saved the world. The universe. Maybe Sam could take one leap of faith here. Be selfish for once.

"Only if you're there," said Sam as he leaned close to give Bucky a kiss; chaste and hesitant, and okay, maybe Sam was a little nervous to push this boundary.

But.

But Bucky deepened it. Like this was a relief. Like this was what he was waiting for. Like this was all he ever needed too.

And Sam got lost in that kiss.

Got lost in so much more.

The party, but a distant memory in Bucky's arms.

[navnae]

Hairdresser Robin and barista Steve talking about their crushes on author Nancy and tattoo artist Eddie.

Occasionally when Steve visits Robin’s salon he always finds a way to talk about Eddie who does tattoos right across the street from his coffee shop. He goes on about how sometimes he gets his order wrong just for Eddie to come back and stay a little longer. Robin never skips a beat when talking about Nancy and how she frequently goes to the library just to talk about a few of her books that she’s written. Eventually they’ve gotten close enough to where Nancy saves Robin a seat at the library and they’ll discuss their favorite books along with other things.

Steve and Robin can’t stop thinking about these two and they want to ask them very badly but their scared too.

[katebishopofearth]

Feel free to ignore….

How do you think tony would react to nats death? (In an ironwidow world ofc)!

Anon you've caught me in an ironwidow mood, and also a writing mood, and also an Endgame mood thanks to @queeenpersephone's excellent scene rewrite. So, it seems like the stars have aligned to make me answer this ask ;)

----

"See you in a minute." Natasha had smirked and brushed her lips against the corner of his mouth, a quick goodbye like she was going to to pick up cat food from the store down the road. Tony had barely laid a hand on her waist, hadn't even begun to hold her close for a lingering goodbye before they went off to different corners of space and time, when she stepped back lithely and slipped out of his reach.

He'll see her before too long.

But a minute later – after he took a life-changing trip to the past and laid some daddy issues to rest – Clint returns alone to the here and now. Drenched and weaponless, he collapses onto all fours, an orange jewel clutched in his hand.

The Avengers stare at him in trepidation, waiting for an explanation, when all he can offer is a grief-stricken look on his face. A black holes opens up in Tony's stomach and swallows his pounding heart.

"Where is she?" he demands, his voice shaking.

The bow-less archer turns his eyes to him. A look of profound sorrow carved into the lines on his face.

No. Tony swallows the despair that threatens to swallow him whole. "Where is she?!" He repeats, using anger to mask the immense fear that yawns inside him. He steps forward and kneels down to grabs Clint by the shoulders. "Tell me, you coward!" he snarls, at once a demand and a plea. Tell me she's right behind you. Tell me she got left behind. Tell me there's still time to save her. Tell me… tell me… anything except –

Clint shakes his head, unshed tears in his eyes like the alien stars he has just witnessed. "She's gone." His voice cracks.

"No – you're lying." Tony's voice comes out far harsher than he intends. "Tell me you're lying, Barton. Tell me where she is." He's pleading now, all desperation.

"Clint?" Steve prompts, his voice even and calm and Tony hates it, hates how he can be so fucking composed when Natasha isn't here. "Tell us what happened."

"The stone demanded a sacrifice," Clint says. "I tried to stop her, I really did." A sob wrenches its way out of his throat. "I fought her so that she wouldn't jump but she…" His laugh is a broken thing. Something inside Tony – the last remaining shard of hope – shatters at the sound. "She was too fast, too strong for me." He sinks his forehead onto Tony's shoulder despite the other man's aggressive hold. "It should have been me."

"No. No, that's not true, that's not…" Tony stumbles over the words. His head spins, light particles and dust molecules and oxygen swirl around him, taking no shape. His lungs don't work properly anymore. He sees her in his mind's eye, on some barren cliff on an alien planet, and the image doesn't make sense, it simply isn't possible. That she no longer exists somewhere in the world, that the universe isn't warmer for her presence, living and breathing, as certain as the Earth spinning on its axis. Tony wants to look out the windows because surely, surely without her the sun would crumble into ash and the atmosphere disappear and the world fall into smothering darkness because a world without Natasha – is not a world that can exist at all.

Clint raises his head and the grief in his eyes is as fathomless as the pit that yawns within Tony. A black hole to swallow them both and the world with them. Part of Tony wants to put his arms around Clint, hold onto the only person who can possibly understand this terrible, apocalyptic grief and emptiness. But the other part of him wants to push him away, to curse and scream, to fight time and fate and the universe itself.

That angry, resentful part wins out. He shoves Clint off and gets to his feet. "You're right," he snarls. "She's not the one who deserved to die."

"Tony!" Steve gasps in reproach, grabbing Tony's shoulder. But Clint only hangs his head in shame. "That was out of line," Steve reprimands.

"Out of line?" Tony echoes angrily. "Natasha is –" /dead/. He can't bring himself to say the word, to make it unbearably true and final. If he doesn't say it, he can pretend that maybe, maybe in another minute he'll see her again, and this time he'll wrap his arms around her, holding her properly so that she can't slip away again.

"She's gone," Steve says with sombre finality. The lines between his brows betray that he's already admitted defeat, and it makes Tony want to punch him in the face. "We've got to move on." The look of sympathy in his eyes, that implies I know how you feel, makes Tony sick to the stomach.

Tony's voice is freezing cold. "With all due respect, Cap," which is none, he adds silently, "Natasha isn't Peggy Carter. She didn't get to live a full life and achieve great things, and grow old, and die in her own bed surrounded by her children and grandchildren. She has so much life left to live!" He's vibrating with rage, and it's all he can do to stop himself from throwing hands with Captain America.

"She did," Steve agrees, squeezing Tony's shoulder in a way that's meant to be comforting but comes across as a pressure. "But she sacrificed herself for a cause, and we'll honour that. Make the price she paid worth it. We'll save the world. It's what she would want."

Tony glares, his anger freezes his veins and burns him from the inside out. "You don't get to tell me what Natasha would want." He pushes Steve's hand from his shoulder. "For someone who says he wants to save the world, you're awfully quick to give up on the people you love."

"You can't change the past, Tony," Steve urges, but Tony brushes past him roughly.

"No," he says with icy conviction. "I refuse to believe that. I didn't figure out time travel by admitting defeat. You might be able to move on, Steve," he adds scathingly. "But not me."

He marches to the console of the time travel machine. A cold fire burns at the edges of the black hole inside him, the only thing keeping it from engulfing him in despair. He's figured out time travel once, he can do it again. Especially when it's the life of the one person he loves more than anything else that's on the line.

He looks around the tense, grief-stricken faces of the gathered Avengers. Everyone Natasha loves – everyone who loves Natasha – in one room. Steve's arms are crossed and he frowns in disapproval, but Tony can't give a rat's ass what Captain America thought. "We want to save the world?" He puts it to the team. Bruce and Thor offer tentative nods, and that's good enough for him. "Good. We start by saving one of our own. It's only a victory if we all win together."

A spark lights up behind Clint's eyes. A glimmer of hope. Wordlessly, he gets to his feet and offers Tony the orange gem that sits in the palm of his hand. The Infinity Stone that Natasha gave her life for. A singularity of the birth of the universe, but a trinket compared to the singularity, the complexity, the paradox that is Natasha Romanoff.

As Tony takes the Stone from Clint's hand, a silent understanding passes between the two of them. They would trade all six Infinity Stones, a hundred times over, for Natasha's life and think it a bargain.

"New mission, team," he announces. It's a side quest in the grand scheme of the fate of the world, but it's also the only quest that's ever mattered. Because what good is saving the world if Natasha isn't in it? He adjusts the coordinates on the time travel machine and sets a course to Vormir. "We're gonna get Natasha back." Or he would die trying. Either way, he promises silently, I'll see you soon, honey.

[queeenpersephone]

Prompt: ironwidow reconnecting after the five year gap in endgame. Pepperony optional.

this is short, but i just wanted to rewrite that one scene and this is the perfect prompt for it <3 also heads up: Steve is a hella unreliable narrator. opinions expressed by him are not necessarily the opinions of this author ;)

-

The first thing Steve notices is the nod.

It's subtle, of course, but Steve hasn't gotten as far as he has as a fighter and a leader without a general awareness of the relationships of his teammates. And Tony and Natasha have always had a certain acerbic, yet mutual, respect, but never has Tony looked to Natasha for how to make a play. At least, not more than that period of internal strife that Steve doesn't like to think about.

Tony, holding his young daughter - Morgan, Steve thinks - nods back, and Natasha turns back to Scott and him. "Let's go," she says evenly, meeting Steve's curious gaze head on. She's never been scared of him.

The child turns at the sound of Natasha's voice. "Nat!" She calls, high-pitched and excited, squirming out of her father's arms. Tony lets her down with a grumble, but he can't hide the soft smile at the corner of his mouth. The dark-haired child sprints toward Natasha, who swings the girl up on her hip.

"Hi, Morgan," Natasha says lowly, bumping her nose against the girl's, smiling which she lets out a stream of giggles. "What are your daddy and you up to this week, hm?"

Morgan catches her up as they walk down to the porch to meet Tony. "We caught fishies, and drew pictures, and I built a robot to do my chores at Mommy's!" Morgan pauses, small white teeth grinning at her father. "Daddy helped."

Tony shrugs. "I just handed her the tools."

This is all becoming a little too strange for Steve, who clears his throat. All heads swing in his direction. "Tony," he begins, eyes still on the sight of Natasha holding Tony's child. When? How? Why? "We need to talk," he finishes after an uncomfortable pause.

Natasha sets the girl on her feet despite her whining protests. "Go play with FRIDAY," she encourages. The girl leaves reluctantly, and Tony finally steps up to greet them. "Lang. Rogers." His eyes fall on Natasha, and they noticeably soften. "Miss me, Romanoff?"

Steve swallows, unfamiliar with the growing pit in his stomach.

-

"That's not how quantum physics works," Tony says, raising an eyebrow at Scott, and Steve has never wished more for the return of the man who accidentally created Ultron. Sure, Tony has grown, matured, and settled into a quiet, anti-mayhem existence, but they need a little mayhem now.

"Tony," Natasha says, and Steve jumps a little. She's remained pretty quiet through, but Tony's eyes fall on her with an unexpected intensity at her soft interjection. "We have to take a stand."

He stands, stepping by Scott to get to her, and Steve feels like he has disappeared from the porch. "We did stand, and yet here we are," he entreats her. "Natasha, you know the risks. Is it really worth what w-" He stops, abrupt, at the look on Natasha's face. Steve inhales sharply.

"I know you've got a lot on the line," Scott says, oblivious to the tension now between three of the founding members of the Avengers. "Your daughter - her mother. I heard about your divorce, by the way, and I'm sorry-"

"It's been three years," Tony interrupts, eyes still intent on Natasha. "Pepper and I co-parent just fine."

" - but I lost someone very important to me," Scott continues. "A lot of people did. And now we have the chance to bring her - to bring everybody back, and you're telling me you won't even-"

"Enough, Scott," Natasha cuts him off with an icy tone. "We came here to ask for help, not to guilt Tony into helping against his better judgment." As Scott blusters behind them, Tony's arm rises toward Natasha ever-so-slightly, then falls.

Steve has had enough. "Are you going to make me ask?" He says finally.

Scott turns to him. "What-"

"Yes," Tony interrupts. "Please. Ask, instead of making those all those judgments I see in your eyes."

"Boys," Natasha warns.

"No, Nat," Tony snaps. "What do you want me to say? Oh, thank you for coming out here, now that you need something? Thank you for asking me to rip up my life, to risk my daughter, to risk you? I'm not saying no just for me, you know. If Cap is putting these ideas of 'better' into your head, maybe you should spend some time up here for a while."

Scott, as if on a delayed clock, starts with surprise, wide eyes darting between Tony and Natasha. "Oh, shit," he announces. "Wait, when - how?"

But no one is paying attention to him. "You can't say no for me, Tony," Natasha says with narrowed eyes. "I'm not saying this idea is viable, but if there's a chance, we could at least try."

Tony gives up the illusion, reaching for Natasha's hands. "You were here a few weeks ago," he argues. "Everything was fine. What could've possibly-"

"You were here a few weeks ago?" Steve almost-shouts. "Didn't you think I'd want to know that two of my friends-"

"Oh, stop with the sanctimonious bullshit, Rogers, Natasha's the only one of you who gets an opinion on my life because she's the only one who has visited me without an agenda-"

" - Oh, are you so sure?"

"I found Clint," Natasha says, and everything stops at the waver in her voice. "I found Clint, and he needs me. Us. This chance."

"Natasha," Steve begins quietly.

"Nat, he made his choices just like the rest of us," Tony says at the same time.

"He lost everything except me," she interrupts. "And we all know I'm not enough to tether him. And neither of you seem to care. You" - she looks at Tony - "seem to think everything's perfect as long as you have your bubble. And I'm happy for you, I'm so happy to be a part of that bubble, but it's bad out there, Tony. You can't ignore it." She turns to Steve. "And you, you want this to work so badly, but you're not acting much like a leader. When was the last time you reached out to Thor, Clint, or Bruce? Because I know you haven't seen Tony. Is it all for Bucky, then?"

"That's not fair, Romanoff," Steve replies, hurt.

"None of this has ever been fair," Natasha retorts, "and-"

But she doesn't get the chance to finish, because Morgan runs out and grabs her by the legs. "FRIDAY said your heart was working too hard," she says, "are you okay?"

Natasha mumbles something under her breath about meddling AI systems, but scoops Morgan into her arms anyways. "I'm just fine, kotyonok," she murmurs to the little girl. "Let's go inside, hm?"

She pauses, then reaches up to brush a soft kiss over Tony's mouth. Steve shuts his eyes, blocking it out. If Natasha is with Tony, everything changes.

Suddenly, he feels a squeeze to his shoulder and opens his eyes to an expressionless Natasha's, Tony's child nestled in the curve of her shoulder. "Part of you is still in that bunker, in Siberia," she whispers. "Unless you come out, you'll never get your chance to save the universe." Then, she leans back. "Or you'll... lose one of us in the process," raising her eyebrow to indicate that she's being careful with her terminology due to the child.

"No one should get lost!" Morgan replies from her shoulder.

"Out of the mouth of babes," Tony quips as his eyes follow Natasha and Morgan inside. Then, he turns to Steve. "It's actually good to see you," he says finally, almost easily. "If you don't talk shop, you can stay for lunch." Then, his expression closes, and he continues, tone tight with anger. "However, if you ever insinuate anything negative about our relationship again, I will never see you again. And there's nothing that Natasha will be able to do to convince me to give you yet another chance." Then, he disappears inside.

Scotts looks at Steve. "I don't know what I was expecting from this, but it's definitely not that."

Steve ignores him, turning to walk back to the car. Now, he can identify the pit in his stomach. Betrayal, shock... guilt. "We need to talk to Banner. Maybe he'll have some answers."

Scott hurries to his side. "What about Romanoff?"

Steve shakes his head. "She'll come around. She knows that we have to do whatever it takes to save the world."

At least, that's what Steve has to believe.

[frankthesnek]

Hello can I get soft kiss 7 for Stony?

Okay, okay so all the other kiss prompt fills have been soft and fluffy and cute. This one gave me angst vibes. I hope thats okay 💕

Come Home Again

Rated G

Prompt: sharing a kiss after not seeing eachother for an extended period of time

750 words

The room was dark when Tony opened his eyes, a dull depthless darkness that was a far cry different from the mystical and star spotted blackness he'd been surrounded by in space.

Right… he was back.

Thinking was normally an easy task for Tony, but recalling the events that led him here was difficult and physically taxing. He remembered landing, remembered clinging to Nebula and limping down the ramp, remembered—

“Steve?” The word was horse and croaking as it left his lips. Steve's hands on his arm and shoulder, too tight and almost painful on his depleted worn out body, the solid heat at his side as Steve had helped him inside—that he remembered, but in a too good to be true dreamy way he wasn't sure he should believe.

“Tony?"

The sound of his name was startling, and Tony flinched harshly before sluggishly turning his head to find Steve sitting off to the side of his bed. His face was shadowed, the plains and angles of it illuminated gently by the subtle glow of the nano tech arc. Why did Steve have it?

“I'm sorry for pushing you like that,” Steve's words were hollow, his eyes downcast to the reactor.

Oh.

Tony closed his eyes against the returning memory. Steve’s questions, his own lunatic ramblings as he fell apart. They had ended on fighting so long ago and wound up the same way this time around. The cold of Siberia seemed better than the chemical fresh chill of the medical bay. He had been left alone and cold and broken hearted back then, but at least his spirit had still been intact. It felt like now he'd lost even that.

“It's fine,” Tony mumbled back softly, opening his eyes to find Steve now looking at him. The reactor's light was obscured by Steve's large palm curling around it, the duller lighting making his face look dark and sad.

“It was selfish,” the other man countered. “I shouldn't have—”

“No. No, no, nonono,” the word tumbled out of Tony in a weak and droning mantra, forcing Steve into silence. Tony went quiet too. Breathing and collecting his thoughts, chasing them like scared animals hiding in the fog of his brain. So much had happened, so much had gone wrong. He didn't want this with Steve. Couldn't handle it—not now. Later, later, there would be time for talking and healing and explanations. All the things they had destroyed and that had been lost between them—it wouldn't, couldn't be forgotten but right now, none of it mattered.

“I don't want to argue. I don't want to fight. I'm done fighting. We lost. We lost so much,” the words were fucking bitter—sharp and painful in his too tight dry throat.

“Tony,” Steve stood and moved to the edge of the bed, placing the reactor on the sheets. Its calming blue a bright contrast to the bland white of them.

“I don't care right now about all of our fuck ups—not yours, not mine. Steve, I just wanna come home.” Tony didn't realize the words had brought him to tears until Steve's palm settled over his cheek. Cupping gently like so many times in the past. Tony turned his face into the contact. “I wanna go home,” softer this time, the words spoken into the battle calloused skin of Steve's palm.

“You are home, honey,” Steve said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You’re home.”

When Steve leaned down over him, the moment felt too long and drawn out. The few seconds it took for Steve's lips to meet his a back breaking straw on top of all the time they had been apart—all the touches they had robbed themselves of.

Tony pressed back simply, not having the energy for more than the firm contact of a couple grounding pecks. Steve lingered, like he always did. His soft mouth brushed tenderly along Tony's jaw, and he felt his stubble catch against the supple softness of the other man's lips.

“You're home now. Get some rest,” Steve whispered into his cheek.

Tony closed his eyes again, barely registering the dip and shift in the bed, already fading back into exhausted sleep. It was only when he heard the steady thump under his ear that he realized Steve had laid down with him; had shifted them so Tony was curled atop him, head pillowed on Steve's powerful chest.

He was home. It was a broken home—cracked picture frames, and unmade beds, and cobweb filled closets—but the foundation was still there. Strong and sturdy, and everything he needed.