#i hope this doesn't flop WAILS

[ghostieb1u]

Found out about the boxer au, and I had to draw out this dipshit of a man — he's throwin punches KAPOW !!!

( AU belongs to @burrotello ! )

[woso-dreamzzz]

Outburst II

Leah Williamson x Jordan Nobbs x Child!Reader

Summary: You say a bad word

"Whoa, whoa," Leah says helplessly as your screaming body is placed into her arms," What-? Jordan, what's going on?"

Jordan sighs as she gently wipes the tears from your red face. "She's a little sad today-"

"Mummy!" You whine, reaching for her. You try to flop back out of Leah's arms to get to her and it's only because of Leah's quick readjustment that you don't go falling to the floor. "Mummy, no!"

"I'm sorry, bug," Jordan says and, to her credit, she does look incredibly apologetic," But you know it's Mum's turn to have you this week."

You just sob harder.

"No," You cry," Mummy, no! Please!"

"I'm sorry, bug," Jordan repeats, crowding close enough to give you a tight hug in the hope of calming you down," But you know that it's Mum's week now. You were so excited to get your minutes in a few days ago."

You just keep crying though, trying to claw your way out of Leah's arms and cling to Jordan.

"Go, Jordan," Leah says with a sigh," I'll take her inside. I'll calm her down."

Jordan looks torn but nods. "She didn't want to leave Blu. I took him to the vets last night for a checkup. He stayed over there so she hasn't seen him since. She's been a little bit sad."

"A little bit?" Leah scoffs as you wail right in her ear before hitting her shoulder. "Hey, no, bug. What have I said about hitting? It's rude."

You hit her again.

"Bug," She says in warning.

"Hey," Jordan says softly," As soon as I get back, I'll pick up Blu and send your Mum a picture but you've got to stop crying, okay?"

You sniffle. "Promise?"

"I promise."

You nod and angrily wipe away your tears. Your bottom lip still trembles but you relax in Leah's arms, head on her shoulder as your hand reaches out to play with the necklace she's wearing.

Leah hopes that you'll be happier now that Jordan's promised pictures of Blu but you're still a little sad and depressed during bath time and bedtime.

You didn't even enjoy your bedtime story like you usually do and it carries on the next day when you don't cross the day off on the calendar.

You're usually so excited to cross a day off because it means you're closer to match day and match day means you get your minutes in at the very end.

Leah doesn't know what else to do. She's shown you the picture of Blu Jordan sent. She put you in your comfy clothes and your favourite Arsenal jersey but you still remain sad.

Very briefly, Leah considers going to the shelter and getting you a puppy but realises that she's got training and there's not enough hours in the day to do both so she picks you up and gets you into the car.

Leah's pretty sure it unnerves everyone how quiet you are. Even the newer signings like Fox and Codi seem to notice something's wrong.

Katie's the one who makes the first move.

You're sitting in Leah's cubby, just swinging your legs aimlessly when Katie pokes you in the cheek.

The disgruntled look on your face is funny so she pokes you again.

"Come on," She cajoles," What's wrong? I don't get a hug this morning?"

"No."

"Why not? I might die without my hugs, you know."

You give her a blank stare. "Then die."

"Bug!" Leah snaps sharply and you duck your head sheepishly.

"Sorry, Mum. Sorry, Katie."

Leah turns back to what she's doing and Katie pokes you again.

"Stop it!" You snap but Katie does it again," Fuck off, Katie!"

Someone gasps, probably Alessia, but all you're focussed on is your Mum. Leah whips around to face you. She looks angry, looking down at you with pursed lips.

"That's a bad word, bug!" She tells you," It's a naughty word! Who taught it to you?"

You shrug.

"Bug, you've already been naughty today. Don't lie to me. Who taught it to you?"

You feel the urge to cry again, your throat going all tight and closed up and you know pretending you don't know what Mum is talking about will get you in a lot of trouble.

You mumble your response.

"Speak louder, bug," Leah says," So I can hear you."

"Rachel said it to Mummy a few days ago when they were wrestling," You reply," Didn't know it was a bad word! It got Mummy to stop!"

Leah sighs, running a hand over her mouth as she looks at you. The rest of the locker room has gone silent, just watching how she's going to tackle this situation.

"Some words," Leah says," Are naughty words. That's one of them. I don't want to hear you say it again, bug."

You frown. "Rachel said it."

"Rachel's an adult."

"And adults say bad words?"

"Only when they're being naughty." Leah really doesn't want to be having a conversation like this but she has to admit that thinking it through has perked you up a little bit.

"Adults get in trouble for saying bad words too?" You check and Leah nods. You point right at Beth. "She said fuck last week."

"Bug, stop repeating it!"

"And so did Emily and Lessi. Lessi taught it to Vic, who taught it to Codi. Everyone says it, Mum!"

"Well-" Leah looks around.

"And they didn't get in trouble!"

"They're getting in trouble now!" Leah declares," We'll make a swear jar. If you swear, you put money in the jar. Is that good enough for you, bug?"

You think for a moment, looking around the room where Kyra is giggling. "Kyra called the plug a motherfucker when she stepped on it last week."

"That was meant to be a secret!" Kyra exclaims.

"Alright." Leah massages her temples. "From now on, this is a no swear zone. If you swear then you put money in the jar."

"Hey, come on!" Katie complains," Sort your kid's potty mouth out at home! Don't make all of us suffer through this shite."

"That's a quid in the swear jar, McCabe," Leah says, turning and picking you up," And no Bug Hugs for a week."

"No, Bug Hugs?!" Katie shrieks," I'll die without them."

Leah winks at you. "Then die."

[luveline]

Could I request something from the kisses before dinner universe (if you’re taking requests that is!) just es to see the girls trying to do something nice for their parents. Or reader has the girls help her do something nice for Steve since he does so much for them (or vice versa bc mom does so much for them too)

thank you for your request! hope this is okay!! dad!steve x mom!reader, 4.5k

Avery pulls her hat over her ears and grits her teeth, eyes scrunching closed. All the new baby does is cry, cry, and cry. 

"She's loud," Bethie says.

"So loud," Avery say. 

Seconds after, Dove starts to cry, like a bomb being dropped, or a siren call. She wails and wails. The sounds are endless. Avery's hat won't block them out. She throws it across the room, agitated. 

"Stevie," Avery hears you say softly, super tired, "sorry, honey, you don't know where Dove's buppy is?" 

"No idea." 

Avery looks toward her socked feet at the end of the bed, where Dove's baby bottle lays dirty against the rumpled blankets. She grabs it quickly and slides out of bed, careful not to bash into Bethie where they'd been lying down together. Avery just got a brand new TV in her bedroom for her birthday, which means they can be 'lazy excuses for girls' if her dad is to be believed. Avery knows lazy is a bad word, but Steve says it like it's funny. She always laughs. 

"Mom," Avery says, running into Dove's room. 

"What, baby?" you ask absentmindedly, a crying Dove on your hip, hands yanking aside her blankets in search.

"I have her buppy." 

You turn, smiling, grateful and bubbly as you accept the bottle and ruffle her hair. "My life saver! Thank you. Did your movie finish? I'll come and change the tape."

"Not yet." 

"Okay. Tell me when it does, angel, I’ll come and do it straight away." You lean down. "Don't bother daddy, okay? Just come and ask me if you need something." 

"Can I have some juice?" she asks. 

"Yes, you can have some juice. Can you be patient? I have to make Dove a bottle. Five minutes?" you ask. 

Avery nods without a frown. She really wants juice, but she wants Dove to stop crying more. You give Avery's cheek a little squeeze and leave for downstairs, taking the steps very, very slowly. "It's okay, Dovey," you mumble. "It's okay. I know, you're tired, I'm tired too." 

Avery doesn't want to see the baby —she loves the baby, you and Steve love the baby, everyone loves the baby— 'cos she's ridiculously loud, and Avery needs her ears to work or she'll never be a famous violinist, and then what will she do with her life? She only just started music classes. But Avery misses her dad desperately, having seen him for a ten minute period when he picked her up from school and not a second longer. 

She creeps into the big bedroom. It's a disaster. Steve is sitting in bed with the baby in his arms, rocking her back and forth, hand patting her butt and lower spine steadily. He's shushing with every pat, eyes closed. He looks like he has an unhappy tummy. 

"Daddy?" she whispers. 

His hand flies to his mouth, finger over his lips in the universal sign for Please, be quiet. 

"Are you okay?" she whispers. 

He nods vehemently, finger still over his lip. Avery remembers your recent ask too late —Don't bother daddy. Her eyes flare wide and she tiptoes back to her room, flopping onto the sheets next to Bethie with a defeated sigh. 

"It's hopeless," she dramatises. 

"It's not hopeless, it's just bedtime," Bethie says, much more talkative when it's her and Avery alone. Her pronunciation isn't the best, she's nearly two years younger than Avery, but it's more than passable. "Don't worry, Ave." 

Avery drags her face up from the sheets and pouts at her younger sister. "Mom and dad are both busy and we'll never get ants on a log." 

Bethie tips her head to one side. "Baby's sleeping now." 

"But dad wouldn't speak to me!" 

"Heather's sensi‐stive." 

Heather isn't the baby's name, officially, but it's the one Bethie likes most. Avery liked Tiffany, but no one else liked Tiffany, which was dumb. Tiffany is the best name ever. Way better than Heather.

"Tiffany," she says pointedly, "isn't sensitive, she's just new." Or, that's what Steve says. "We didn't vacuum enough when she came home so now she's not used to big sounds." 

"I'm not used to big sounds," Bethie sighs, curling in on herself. Avery does as she's seen Steve do when Bethie sulks, draping herself over Bethie and hugging her gently. She kisses Bethie's hair. Bethie grumbles, "Avery." 

"What?" Avery asks, rolling off of her. 

Bethie doesn't answer. Avery sits there thinking, and after a while it's clear you're too busy to bring the juice upstairs. 

"Maybe we should try helping." 

Bethie lifts her head off of the pillow. She looks much more like you than the rest of her sisters, same hair, same eyes, same pretty smile. Avery looks the spitting image of her dad in comparison, pretty and in a different way. "What can we do?" Bethie asks. "We're only little." 

"No, dad says we're only little, but mommy says I'm a big girl, like, all of the time. And so does Grandpa." 

"Grandpa says we're too loud." 

"Dad says grandpa's… uhm, senior. It means crazy," Avery says. 

"So we should be little?" Bethie asks. 

"No!" Avery says, annoyed. 

She jumps off of the bed and grabs Bethie's hands, encouraging her sister onto her feet. Together, they cross the landing to peer into the master bedroom, where Steve is still swaying the baby in his arms, his rumpled t-shirt stained with spit up and milk. They're practised at sneaking and Steve is too distracted to see them, whispering soft things into the top of the baby's head. 

Avery is a bit jealous, but she has a plan.

"I don't think we should do that," Bethie says.

Avery's dragged her into the bathroom. It's hard to get inside because of the child lock, but luckily Avery is more than adept. Her dad says she can't ever, never show Bethie or Dove how to do them, the same way she can't show Dove how to unlock the gates at the top and bottom of the stairs yet. She made Bethie close her eyes on the way in. 

"Don't worry, Beth, I've seen daddy do it millions of times already," Avery says confidently. 

They've opened the washing machine and shoved all of Steve's dirty clothes inside. He won't have to do them before bed tonight, and that means more time for snuggles. Avery climbed up onto the side of the machine using a precariously stacked contraption of potties and an upside down laundry basket, and now she's eyeballing how much detergent needs to go in. 

"This is heavy," Bethie complains, her arms shaking from the weight of the Tide liquid. 

Avery really wasn't supposed to show her how to open that cabinet, but she felt it necessary. Bethie won't eat the detergent, anyways, Bethie barely likes eating normal food. Avery pulls the detergent up, having finally decided that they need more. She lets a thick splash of green drizzle down onto the clothes, nodding approvingly, and screws the lid back on. 

She drops the detergent down and a rogue towel muffles the thump, sliding off of the machine and closing the lid. 

You appear looking urgent in the doorway.

"Hey, what have I said about the bathroom? You can't use this one when no one is with you, okay? Do you know what I'm saying?" 

"Sorry, mommy," Bethie says tearfully. 

You soften. "It's for you to be safe, baby." Your softness doesn't quite extend to Avery, though it doesn't fully disappear either. She's most in trouble. "Ave, you know the rules. You can come in here, but you're not supposed to bring the girls with you. I'm not happy with you." 

"Mom, I'm sorry," Avery says, not taking it quite as hard as Beth, "but Bethie needed to pee super badly, we couldn't make it downstairs." 

You buy her lie. "Okay. Okay, but not again. Promise? I just don't want you girls getting into something you shouldn't." 

"Promise," Avery says.

You smile down at them both before looking over their heads. "Daddy must've forgot to turn on the machine. Press start for me, Ave. Big green button." 

Avery clicks the big green button on the washing machine smugly. They already helped. 

You lead them out of the bathroom and back into Avery's room, where cups of juice and an exorbitant amount of snacks wait on the nightstand. They sit on the floor while you make Avery's bed, a plate of ants on logs between their knees. 

"Dove's sleeping downstairs on the beanbag," you say. The baby monitor in your pyjama pocket doesn't make a peep. "So if you do need to pee, please be quiet. And up here, too, I think daddy finally got the baby to sleep as well." 

"Is it bedtime?" Bethie asks. 

You fold back the corner of Avery's comforter. With a sigh, you sit at the top of her freshly made bed and hold out your arms. "No, it's snuggle time. Come and keep me company." 

Bethie rockets into your arms. Avery doesn't rush, focused on eating as many logs as she can, washing it down with a huge swig of strawberry and raspberry juice. You hoist Bethie over one thigh and hold her to your stomach, groaning, "Oh, there she is, there's my girl. Daddy said you didn't eat any of your dinner when you got home, do you wanna tell me why? I won't tell anyone else." 

"I just wasn't hungry." 

"Really? Did you have a big lunch?" 

"No…" Bethie rubs her face against your neck. "Daddy wasn't happy because I didn't eat any lunch." 

"Oh, sweetheart," you say, "daddy worries about you. You don't have an appetite." 

"A what?"

"You don't get hungry enough," you explain.

"That's not like me, I eat lots and lots," Avery says proudly, smiling at you through Bethie's hair in your face. 

"You do! You eat lots and it makes you smart and strong. That's why I want you to eat lots, too," you say, moving your focus to Bethie again, finger poking her chest gently, "You're just as strong and smart as your sister, but you need to keep eating. Maybe I can make you something else, if you don't want the ants on logs, how does that sound? I can make you anything you want, Beth." 

"Can I have something too?" Avery asks, licking peanut butter off of her finger. 

"Of course you can. Maybe something not too big for you, though. I don't want you to feel sick." 

Avery considers that a win. You keep prodding at Bethie, wondering why she isn't hungry. You offer her soups and sandwiches and when that doesn't work you suggest ice cream and candied orange slices. Avery can't understand why her sister would say no to all of these things, but she doesn't have time to ask. Steve wanders into the room looking like he's been trampled by an elephant, hair sticking up and eyes sallow. There's a new baby monitor in his hand. 

"Hey," he says, yawning wide. His teeth snap together and he smacks his lips. "Holy macaroni, she's a toughie. Every time I tried to put her down she'd wake up again." 

Avery has been waiting for this moment all day. She abandons her ants, wiping sticky fingers in her nightie as she crowds Steve's legs. She wants to be picked up, but she's a little too long and Steve's too tired. He bends down to put his arms under her armpits and hug her to his chest, grabbing her up half-hearted and depositing her on the end of her bed. He sits down next to her, and he pats his lap. 

She squeals happily and complies. 

"Hello," he says fondly. 

"What have you even been doing all day?" she asks him. 

He sighs. "I really don't know, Ave. I don't. What have you been doing? Besides half a jar of peanut butter." 

She giggles as he wipes the peanut butter off of her cheeks and the corners of her mouth with the bottom of his t-shirt. "I've been with Beth." 

"We watched FernGully," Bethie supplies helpfully. 

Steve melts as you have, the two of you slouched against the walls bordering Avery's bed. You have matching dark circles. Avery thumbs at Steve's uselessly, wondering if he needs a good wash or a good sleep. He smells nice, she decides, if a bit milky, pressing her face into his neck as her arms lie flat to his shoulders. 

"Is your monitor working now?" you ask him. 

"It's really loud," he assures you. 

"Okay. I'm worried I'm gonna fall asleep while Dove's downstairs on the beanbag." 

"Did you lock the baby gate?" 

"Yeah." 

"Then don't worry. All our furniture is anchored properly. The worst she can do is murder the pot pourri again." 

"I don't want to fall asleep yet, I missed my girls so much," you say, kissing Bethie's cheek. "So, so much. Maybe I can call in sick tomorrow." 

"Honey." 

"It won't hurt anyone," you say. 

"Later," Steve says, talking to you but smiling at Avery, chasing her gaze with his. "We'll talk about it later." 

"So mean to me," you joke in a murmur, sliding flat onto your back, Bethie against your chest. 

Avery can hear you whispering to Bethie, tiny snapshots of a conversation. Are you sure there's nothing wrong, bubby? and If dinner was yucky, it doesn't matter, you can tell me. 

Steve starts to brush Avery's hair out of her face, big fingers exceedingly gentle as he tucks silken strands behind her ears. She had it cut to her chin like Aunt Robin a few weeks ago, and the shorn locks fall to her shoulders now. Steve brushes through them slowly, methodically, tucking it all back with a familiar calmness in his warm brown eyes. 

Avery turns enough to watch TV, content to be held by the very best dad in the world, her hand screwed in the neckline of his shirt so he can't run away.

Having finished her hair, Steve moves on to Avery's face. He draws lines against her small eyebrows, flattening sticky up hair with care. He frets at the tiny mole taking form on her ear, the one he made her go see the doctor for. Just a beauty mark, the doctor said. 

"Well, she's beautiful everywhere," Steve had said. "How was I supposed to know the difference?" 

"Dad," she whispers. 

"What?" Steve whisper back. 

"Am I pretty?" 

Steve pushes her hair out of her face and frames it in two hands. "You're the prettiest girl in the world, Ave." 

She blushes and his face does this thing where he looks like he's going to cry, but Steve doesn't cry around them much. He cried when the baby came home, and again the next day with the baby in his arms. Avery was freaked out the first time, but Aunt Robin said he always does it. He cried way worse than that when you came home, Avey girl. He was like a waterfall, they had to put you in a new babygrow. Avery tried to picture it, her dad crying with a tiny baby Avery in his arms, there are enough pictures of them together, but Steve always looks happy. 

"You think that?" she asks. 

"I more than think it," he says. "Isn't my girl pretty?" 

You and Bethie crane your heads. "She's gorgeous," you say with a smile. Bethie nods her agreement. 

"Oh," Avery says. She'd wanted them to say that, it was why she asked, but now all the attention is on her she's not sure how to handle it.

Steve chuckles and drags her forward. "You're soooo pretty," he says into her hair, sandwiching her in the tightest hug ever. "You're beautiful. B-E-A-U-tiful." 

His niceness makes her really happy to have been nice back; he's being so gentle that Avery decides she's going to tell him about the laundry they put on for him, but he rubs her back some more and she starts to forget. It's not so far from bedtime… 

She falls asleep against his chest. 

"Can you hear that?" you ask.

Steve looks up from Avery's dozing face to you. "What?" 

You pull the baby monitor from your pocket and hold it to your ear. "I thought it was making a weird noise." 

Steve listens intently. Now that you mention it, he can hear something. "D'you put the laundry in?" 

"You forgot to put it on," you say.

"I was getting around to it. You wanted whites, right, for work?" 

"You didn't turn it on." 

"Honey, I haven't touched the machine today, not even to fill the drum. What is that noise?" he asks. 

You ease Bethie off of your lap and stand with a groan. "It's gonna break," you say decisively, "that sounds like a death rattle. Which is exactly what we need right now, more bills."

Steve lays Avery down. She can't have been sleeping for ten minutes but she's a heavy sleeper and doesn't rouse, only curls inward with her hand on her chin. Bethie holds out her hand and Steve takes it, the two of them joining you in the doorway of Avery's bedroom. 

"It won't break, don't worry," Steve placates. 

"What are we gonna do if it breaks?" you mumble, rubbing your tired face.

"We'll have to wear dirty clothes," Steve says. 

"That's not funny." 

Steve frowns. "It so is, you're just tired. And anyway, the washing machine isn't gonna break–" His eyebrows rise. 

"Steve–" 

"Holy fuck," Steve says, squeezing Bethie's hand. "Well, that's bad." 

A line of foamy bubbles are pushing out from under the bathroom door and darkening the carpeting. You rush to open the bathroom door, unleashing a wave of suds that cover your toes. "What the fuck," you say, "what the fuck? Steve, what the fuck." 

Bethie puts her hands over her ears before Steve can do it for her. 

He joins you in the bubbly bathroom, the two of you horrified and baffled at once. "What the fuck," you say again, this time sounding tearful. You click the off button on the washing machine, and while the sloshing, thick sound it was making ceases, bubbles continue to flood out. Together, you and Steve flattens your towels on top of the floor to smother the soap. You're most panicked about the carpet because it'll get damp and the wood underneath it might rot, and Steve's most concerned about the washing machine, because despite his reassurances, he's worried it really might be broken. 

Bethie, quiet, sweet Bethie, stands on a wet towel, her socks soaked, and bursts into guilty tears. "I'm sorry," she cries.

"Why are you sorry?" Steve asks.

You may be confused and irritated, but nothing ever stops you from scooping up your baby and comforting her within and inch of her life. "Beth," you say softly, "don't panic." 

She's crying pretty hard compared to her usual tears. Steve hasn't seen her this wound up since that washable pen burst in her mouth over a year ago, maybe even two. 

"Me and Ave tried to do the laundry," she admits, shaking, each word said through a staggering sob. "We wanted daddy to have less to do so we could have bedtime cu-cu-cuddles." 

"Oh, no," you say gently. 

Bethie sobs. You rub her little back. Steve doesn't like seeing Bethie cry, but he can't help smiling in the moment. It's sweet, and it's a tad silly, but the damage done wasn't nearly as bad as Bethie seems to think it is. You and Steve are worriers, is all. 

"It's okay," you say, laughing yourself as Bethie wraps her arms around your neck and nearly strangles you in an attempt to soak in your love. "Beth, nobody's mad at you, okay? It was just an accident, it didn't hurt anyone. That's really nice, trying to do things for daddy, but the washing machine is for grown ups, baby. It's hard." 

"Mommy?" Dove calls from the baby monitor.

You let out a tired groan. "No," you whine. 

"Want me to get her?" Steve asks. 

You look like you really want to say yes. "No, that's okay. It's fine." You kiss Bethie's cheek. "Daddy has to take over, my love. I'm not mad, okay? Don't feel sad." 

Bethie nods sadly. You hand her over, hovering, and press a loving kiss to her cheek as Dove begins to cry. 

Steve watches you take your socks off as you leave, throwing the wet bundle of them back haphazardly into the bathroom. Bethie smushes her face to Steve's chest and cries. He shifts her weight in his arms. They're burning from exertion, but he doesn't complain. 

"What did you and Avery do?" he asks. "You're not supposed to come in here without me or mom, you know that." 

"We just put the laundry in the washing machine," she says. 

"How did you even lift the lid?" Steve asks. 

"Avery climbed up," she says, words stringing together into one amorphous blob of sound. 

"Beth, why are you crying?" he asks, giving her back a quick pat. 

"I didn't mean to make the bathroom explode," she says tearily. 

"Ugh," Steve says. He puts the toilet seat down and sits, Bethie in his lap, his chin propped on her forehead. "Who cares? I don't even like this bathroom." 

"You're not mad?" she whispers. 

"Do I look mad?" 

Bethie leans backward to take in Steve's face. He smiles at her, brown eyes light in the glaring bathroom fluorescent, his usually even complexion pale. Bethie raises a hand to feel his dark shadow, cringing at the scratch of stubble against her fingers. 

"You don't like my beard, do you?" he asks. 

"What beard?" 

"Oh, ouch. I'll shave tonight, bub, don't worry. I know you don't like it. Mommy doesn't like it either, she says it makes kisses too annoying." 

Bethie giggles quietly. "Not too annoying," she says. 

"No?" Steve asks. He leans down to kiss her cheek and her nose and her eyebrows. "How were they? Scratchy?" 

"Really scratchy." 

"Annoying?" 

"No," she says happily. Steve preens. 

Bethie actually helps him tidy up the huge mess of the bathroom. Steve opens the washing machine and grabs all the soapy clothes from the drum, dumping them among the sodden towels in the bath tub. He and Beth wash as much soap out of them as they can, until she's practically falling asleep standing up in soaked pyjamas. 

He gets her some new ones, helps her change, and tucks her into bed. She's asleep before he's said goodnight. 

Exhausted, Steve has no choice but to persevere. He squeezes the excess water out of the newly unsoaped clothes and puts them and the towels in the washing machine, too tired to bother with separating anything properly. He doesn't add detergent. 

When that's going, he mops and dries the bathroom floor so everyone's feet can stop making sticky sounds when they walk. He puts the last dry towel on the wet patch of carpet and steps on it. He should rub it, soak up all the excess moisture, but he does not have enough energy. 

You ascend the stairs with Dove, your arms shaking from the strain. She's sleeping, so at least there's that. You take her into her room and leave her baby monitor on the side. Dove definitely doesn't need a monitor anymore, it's only for when she's napping downstairs and everyone else is upstairs. Blanket over her legs, you tuck her in and kiss her smooth forehead. 

"You need to shower," you say to Steve as you close Dove's door. 

"All the towels are wet." 

You frown as you pass him by, rubbing his forearm with your finger briefly. "What about a robe? I know it's not ideal, but you're gonna catch a cold, your clothes are wet." 

"I'll get changed." 

"You deserve a warm shower," you insist. 

"Honey," Steve says softly. Your shoulders relax at that one simple word. "I'm fine. We both need to change, and then we need to sleep." If he showered now he'd pass out against the glass like a saran wrapped turkey. 

You and Steve change into fresh pyjamas in silence, worried about waking the baby who sleeps in her cot in the corner of the room.

"I'm gonna go get Avery," Steve says. 

You're not surprised. "Softie." 

"You're a softie," he says, pinching your hip. 

Avery's where Steve left her, sideways across her sheets. He knows Bethie wouldn't have masterminded the laundry plan by herself. He frowns at the thought that Avery might be missing him so much that before bedtime cuddles were on her mind. 

"Avery, honey," he says, stroking her cheek and her shoulder with either hand. 

She murmurs and wiggles away from his touch.

"Ave, come and get in with me and mom. Does that sound okay?" He really doesn't like the idea of his oldest feeling lonely. Sleeping with kids in the bed sucks most of the time due to their flailing and lack of blanket related etiquette, but Steve can deal with it tonight. Just like Bethie, he has a guilty conscious. "Ave?" 

Avery blinks sluggishly. "I can sleep in your bed?" she asks. 

"Please, would you? I want a cuddle. Does that sound cool?" 

Avery finally opens her eyes, her long lashes riddled with sleepies. "That sounds so cool," she says croakily. 

He can't carry her, he'd drop her at this point. They hold hands on the way to your room, finding you an inch from sleep on top of the blankets. He and Avery laugh as quietly as they can as they pull them from under you, and when they climb in together, you steal Avery from his side, awake enough to know one of your girls is close by. 

"Dad," Avery whines, reaching out her arms until he does what she wants. 

Steve throws his arms over you and Avery, snuggling in closely. She relaxes into your chest, her hand clinging to the front of Steve's shirt. 

Steve closes his eyes. 

"We didn't brush our teeth," Avery whispers.

"Go to sleep, sweetheart," you plead, also whispering. 

"We'll get cavities." 

"We'll brush double in the morning," Steve promises. "Please, Ave. Sleep now." 

Averys easily convinced by Steve's hand in her hair. "Okay," she says through a yawn. "Love you love you." 

"Love you, honey." 

"...Dad?" 

Steve sighs. "What?" 

"Did you see? Me and Bethie did laundry." 

"I saw. Thanks, babe." 

"We–" 

"Sleep, Ave. Please go to sleep." 

[saecookie]

hi sae -- hope you are well. how would you feel about the emergency contact prompt for 9jackrose?

"I've gotta go."

"Wha- Rose, no, wait, what do you mean you've gotta go? We're in the middle of something right now!" The Doctor gestures vaguely at the whole debacle they've been trying to solve for the past five days. "Flewians? Tiny, red, outnumbered? Rings any bell?"

"Cut me your sass ok," and she can see the Doctor wondering who's this person in front of him; frantic, wild eyed, deaf to the simplest logic, already leaving her jacket and the whole world behind her. "Either you come with me see the bloody love of yours lives or you stay here but I'm not staying here another minute."

In the blink of an eye they're out of here, a band-aid put on the economico-social crise they had on hands, TARDIS worping in and out of the vortex without no-one apparently telling her anything. Or maybe they did. It doesn't matter. Either way she hurries, because she loves Jack too.

"What happened to him?" He's not turning as mad as her, but the Doctor's never been a hot blooded human as far as Rose knows. Most of the time it's good, most of the time it's delightfully foreign. Right now it's infuriating, she's alone in her craze and her fears and her nerves and he's trying to soothe her and she doesn't want to be soothed she wants to wail and hurry up and run somewhere but there's nowhere to run before the big girl lands.

"Rose. What happened to him." His hands are on her arms and she shakes him fom. She storms to the console. Grabs her flip phone and tosses it his ways. She doesn't aim. He'll catch it if he wants to.

The Doctors wonder's at the message's showing. "You're his emergency contact."

"Yeah."

"He put you up there."

"Apparently!" She's throwing hands in the air.

"Before or after..." The question hangs in the air, heavy.

"What do I know? What do I care? He's somewhere. He's hurt. You know him, you know that if he's hurt then he's not dead and coming back, you know it means he's hurting, you know it's bad, what the heck do I care if he wanna see me or not? What do I care what he said last time? What do I care if this time we don't come around? He's hurting and-"

She flops down on the seat. She knows what Jack said last time. He said he didn't want them around. He said the memory stick they found before it got wiped by accident was too much. He said he wanted space, wanted to be left alone, wanted to not see their face.

He didn't say not see their face ever again. Rose hopes. That's the best thing she knows how to do, after being compassionate.

The Doctor knows what Jack said. He doesn't know how to hope for himself. He keeps the several seconds they take travelling wondering if Jack'll want to see him. If it's close to be someone fault's, the memory accident was closer to be his than Rose's. Maybe he won't want to see his face now. If he put her up after, then... Then it means he knows Rose would find a way to come and see him even if by herself, even if TARDISless. They might have love each other together, but there's no doubt in either the Doctor or Jack's mind who the best of them three is. It was even the fundamental of their shared opinions.

And so they land, and so the Doctor stops in front of the hospital. Rose doesn't take his hand. She ushers him inside. And the Doctor stops in front of the stairs. In front of the hospital room, in that wing that is apparently for special case – how special he doesn't know. Rose doesn't take his hand.

She knocks on the door. She looks at him, and she tells him either you come with me or you stay here in silence.

She doesn't take his hand.

It's not them against anything.

It's Jack, and she's not gonna be with him the way she's with him against the whole world.

She won't ever be against Jack. Even when he doesn't want to see their face.

"Rose? Rose it's you?"

Jack's voice is raspy and his eyes are bandaged. He doesn't see them in the doorframe, but he still knows apparently that Rose is standing there. Maybe he put her up after, after all.

"Rose? What the... fuck are you doing here?"

Or maybe not.

His voice is painful to hear. Rose hurries inside and almost crashes his bed. He'll just have to keep a whisper, he won't have to force it out.

"Hey ow, you shut up now. Pretty sure you're not supposed to talk. Scoot over jerk."

"Wha-"

He doesn't have time to argue, Rose's scooting him over to lie down beside him. She puts her head on his chest. The Doctor can see how she doesn't notice when she starts stroking his arm.

"What happened?" The Doctor hasn't moved a muscle from the door. He doesn't know if he's invited. He's not moving. His own voice sound painful to hear, too.

"You're here too?"

Another day, he'd have given him sass. He's not moving a muscle.

Jack thinks.

"I'll tell you to take a seat but I know you can stand, so do whatever." He's whispering now, as if on cue he got Rose's offer. "This... thing. I don't know what it did to me, but it's not healing, and it's not killing me. So, I guess I'm waiting it out. How do you say again? Curse of the Time Lord? I'm kinda getting a taste of that."

They're silent for a long time, after that. He's in the best hospital thousands of secs around.

They're silent, and they're not talking about it.

And Rose was his emergency contact. And she knows he's not talking to her beside curt, matter of factly responses.

They don't talk about it. They don't talk about after he's healed, because that would be talking about what they won't do together.

So they don't talk about it. They stay here. Because that's what family does.

[lovelyelbowleech]

HELLO!! HAIR ANON HERE!!! I’m SO SORRY this was delayed but I have been crazy busy. Mostly with good things (like graduating and getting my MA [🎉], and working out the details of starting my next MA program!!), but most recently with covid LOL. BUT THE LAST TWO CHAPTERS OF WAR GAMES HAVE BEEN KEEPING ME SANE. Or causing me to lose what’s left of my sanity (that last chapter especially). Honestly probably both at the same time 😂

Bc OOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHH my GOD that last chapter. I feel VINDICATED. I feel FEVERED (and not just because of the covid lmaooo). I feel YRIEIFOWHFOWHDOWUDOWHDUD. I don’t even know how to describe how I’m feeling other than CHAOTIC and OVERWHELMINGLY POSITIVE. My brain is fuzzy but I needed you to know this was the most hyped up I’ve been about something fandom related in over a decade. I’m glad my gf wasn’t home bc I’m not sure I would want to explain the multiple screams I let out, or the multiple honest-to-god flails that happened.

IN HONOR OF THAT some of my favorite lines:

“Zuko’s eyes were bright, even in the dim light. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to be normal. So I went with it.’” GOD. GOD. GOD. GOD. THE IMAGE THIS PAINTS. LIGHTING SOMETHING ON FIRE RN

“No, that wasn’t true. He had plenty in his head. Things like the fact that perhaps, just between him and himself, he could admit that maybe there was an attraction that he had been trying to convince himself was something else, like envy or admiration. He did maybe stare at Zuko’s muscles a little too much, and find the blushing and the way his hair was starting to flop very charming. Cute, even.” THIS…. INVENTED ROMANCE?? THE NOISE I MADE WHEN I READ THIS WAS SOMEWHERE BETWEEN A SQUEAL AND A WAIL

"’The Avatar is not a baby,’ Zuko said faintly, his eyes a little wide. ‘Not all babies are bald.’ He looked like maybe his brain had stopped working.” THIS MADE ME GIGGLE SO HARD SJDKSJDIWID ALSO THE WHOLE SCENE WHERE THEY WERE FIXING THE TENT!!! Toph, Katara, and Zuko had me in HYSTERICS, also I’m SO PROUD of Zuko’s angry stitching, good job, buddy

ALSO!!! Tu’s section was so sad and so good and so beautifully written??? I’m so worried about what’s going to happen to him and the freedom fighters. But as someone who loves your writing I’m also VERY EXCITED to see what happens with them. 😂 And omg YAY SUKI AND SHEN SURVIVING! And Shen *GETTING SOME*! I think I actually said, “YEAH, GET SOME” out loud when Shen rediscovered his dick. Good for him, man. He fucking deserves it (pun only half intended). Now I’m just desperately curious about what Azula is going to be up to in the next chapter, and which of the four groups we’re following are going to meet first 👀 I’M SO EXCITED TO FIND OUT AHHH

Thank you thank you thank you THANK YOU as always for sharing your amazing writing and story with us!! I am having the time of my life reading this and I am so grateful that I get to. I’m so excited and am waiting very patiently for the next chapter. I hope you’re feeling better, and thank you so much for sharing, again!!! 💖💖💖💖💖💖

Well done for graduation and getting your MA! Sorry about the covid though, that sucks. I hope you are feeling a bit better!

Glad you enjoyed the chapter 😂😬

"also I’m SO PROUD of Zuko’s angry stitching" > I have such a strong image of what those stitches looked like, and all the rage and frustration that went into them. I might have been projecting a bit 😂

Poor Tu is really going through it, his sections are very short at the moment, but I always pack a lot of suffering into them (like Katara's were before she met back up with Sokka, lol)

Shen's been though a lot, he deserves a treat. Good thing Suki is also there to keep ragging on him and making sure he doesn't get ahead of himself 😂

Thank you once again for the amazing comment! I am glad you are still reading and enjoying! And I hope you are on the mend from the plague! ❤️❤️❤️

[julianobungus]

False Hunter AU

Oh, I was hoping Belos was stuck in Hunter's body forever. After all, Phillip is almost made up of palisman energy. And galderstones, as it turned out, are able to store this energy.

But maybe... Phillip's mind doesn't have to be in the mud he vomited.

Oh, he definitely doesn't need to be forced out. We can do that!

After this happens, Philip just rocks back onto his bottom and balls up pitifully, dark slime trickling down his mouth. He's very much still present, only he's sobbing harder. He wails something unintelligible, but it sounds almost like 'Hunter is angry'.

Hunter flops onto his imaginary knees, feeling both crippling exhaustion and defeat. His mind feels blank, but it's probably because he doesn't want to admit to himself that... he failed. He didn't get out - He didn't take his body back.

He doesn't understand why - if Pip forced him back in, or some other factor - but the fact of the matter is that he's been shoved further back into Philip's mind. Into his formerly own skull.

Hunter stares up into nothingness, and then he screams.

He doesn't stop.

[timeguardiansarchive]

Melody ought to known something was off the minute she let her eyes rove the imposing building. The architecture is something of a mystery. For such a large facility, there are very few windows. The few windows that existed, had bars over the windows. Something the ebony-haired princess inquired about. Phillipe insisted that the bars existed to protect them from the violent neighborhood gangs. It is a fact that Melody doesn't seem to question, for it seemed to make sense.

When Phillipe insisted she see this place as part of the Royal-Tour, how could Melody refuse? Especially when he talked incessantly about her meeting his dearly beloved grandmama. If she was going to marry him, she might as well get to know his family.

The halls feel a bit claustrophobic, and they boast none of the warmth or decor she had anticipated to find in a senior living facility. A cold chill rampages through her form as she hovers closer to Phillipe as they stop by the front desk. "Ask them what room your grandmama is in---" She whispers, feeling her discomfiture growing.

Phillipe's grin turns sharkish as he turned his eyes down upon her smaller form. "Oh, my grandmama's not here. She's been dead for ten years." He revels with no shades of remorse for misleading her.

"Then why did you bring me here?" Melody questions, bristling. She suspects there is a rational explanation like he wanted to show her where his grandmama spent a lot of time. But that hope dwindles the minute a few men in lab coats begin to close in around her.

Puzzlement and confusion befall Melody's features as she pulls herself closer to her fiance. Both intense emotions rapidly dwindle into a fathomless well of betrayal. "What is this?!" She demands through gritted teeth. "Phillipe, I want to go home. You're scaring me!"

Phillipe was grinning unabashedly, unperturbed by the precarious situation he had walked her into. "Why princess, don't you want to greet your royal subjects?"

No! No! "NO!" This is all wrong. "I command you to take me home!" Melody orders. "This isn't funny!!!" Her pitch changes to one filled with a desperation laced fervor.

How had she ever trusted someone so wicked and vile?

"Command?"Phillipe croons bemusedly. Melody had just unwittingly ambled into the tale he wove to get her committed. Turning to the nearest doctor, he hurriedly explains. "She has delusions of grandeur. Thinks she's a princess of a far off nation. Don't you, sweetheart?"

"Unhand me!" Mel snips, her voice losing its typical kindness and patience. "I AM A PRINCESS and I'm NOT staying here." She looks to Phillipe, expecting him to add the words 'just kidding', but he does not amend his tale.

She yanks her arm forcibly free and attempts to dart for the exits.

It seems Phillipe had anticipated the bolt for every path out of the place was barricaded by a body. "Be careful. She has a great propensity for violence. Why just the other day she wailed on my gardener just because he wasn't planting the pansies in the right place."

Melody has been left little choice, but she has to unwittingly prove his falsely conjured claims. She takes a few futile swings before being poked with something sharp. Muscles that had once been solid feel as though they liquify and she drops to the marbled floor. Though she can not will her body to react the way she requires it to, she is still hyper aware of what's happening at the desk and beside her. A part of her swears she saw a thick wad of money leaving Phillipe's hands and being pressed into a doctor's.

The sound of wheels glossing over the same surface she was resting her head on manages to garner her attention. A bed is being brought over to her. Had she imagined the prick and collapsed? Mel's mind begins to wonder. In all of the chaos, she misses Phillipe's giddy exit.

She finds herself powerless to resist as she's scooped up and wrestled into a strange, restraining jacket, flopped onto the rolled mattress and strapped down. There's a second shot. She only vaguely feels it this time.

The leering face of a doctor, accompanied by a light being shone in her eyes, are the last things she remembers before a descent into a relentless darkness.

_______-

Her lashes flicker open at the sound of steps beside her bedside. It's Phillipe. A dopey, dazed smile of relief sprawls across her parched lips. "Have you come to get me out?" She hoarsely murmurs as he brushes his fingers through her curls. The gesture could easily be mistaken for one of considerable affection especially, as he drags his knuckles sweetly down the globe of her cheek.

"Not yet, Melanie. You're still too sick and violent. I can't have you hurt yourself or others." He calmly answers. "I'm going to wait here with you for the doctor's report then I have to get back to work. Okay?"

Melanie? Considerable confusion warps her countenance at the unfamiliar name. "Phil, I-- I'm Mel-- Melody. Princess Melody. Don't-- don't you remember?" She stammers, though the assertion is lost under the same wave of fatigue tormenting her bones. Violent didn't sound right-- and she was SICK? Why couldn't she remember any of this?!

"You're wife Melanie needs to remain with us for a while. It's not yet safe to return her to society." A doctor breezily pronounces over her, having only given her chart a brief glance. "We'll up her medication intake. If she does well with that, we'll remove the restraints." Mel find herself groaning in protest which both men deliberately ignore.

When had she gotten married? When did she turn violent? She can not pinpoint any such moments...

..... likely cause they never truly existed.

Repetitively, for lord knows how long, the cycle seems to feed into itself till she can no longer distinguish what day it is or fact from fiction. Melanie is dangerous. Melanie is sick. Melanie must take her medicines when the cart comes around.

__________________

Finally, the bonds are released, and she is allowed to roam her windowless, white walled room. Her bare feet grace the marbled towel softly, as if she were little more than a long forgotten wraith. Panic kindles inside of her, warming and twisting her intestines into painfully tight coils. She can't stop herself from beckoning out-- utilizing her voice for the first time in lord only knows how long.

"Can you hear me? Hello?" The words threaten to strangle in her throat. She knows there will likely be no reply. The floor is a desert place except for the occasional screams and wails of other patients. Still, Mel tiredly braces herself against the wall before slinking her fatigued bones downwards.

“Hello?” Street hopes his voice is loud enough to make it through to her. “Can you hear me?”

Heated streams of silver slip down the curbs of her cheekbones at the sound of light wrapping. Perhaps, its rats, Mel reasons. However, the ebony-haired young woman remains hopeful, braced and listening for further sign. The voice that follows startles her. There's a man! Not just any man, a man who hears her. "Yes, yes. I hear you. I hear you very clearly." She cries in utter relief. If it is just a machination of the mind, she no longer cares. It beat being completely alone.

Porcelain hands grace the white dry-wall as she scoots herself closer to the sound. "Wh-- who are you?" Mel beckons after several moments of silence. Then she swallows a bit fearfully. "Are-- are you still alive?" Okay. So that's a stupid question but she can't think clearly above all of the medications she's being pushed. "Do-- do you know what day it is?" Sure. She is pressing her luck, but none of that seems to matter now.

can you hear me? hello? Mel uselessly calls. (Asylum au? For Street and Mel?)

@timeguardians (for Melody)

The room he had been locked in has no windows, leaving Street only able to guess at how many days have passed since the orderlies tossed him in here. Assuming that the medication cycle only comes once a day, it has been over a week since he arrived. Street suspects he is missing days, though. Two days after arriving here, he attempted to escape. He failed, and woke up strapped to the bed in his room while a nurse plunged a needle into his arm. He had no idea how much time passed before he became lucid again. That was five days ago, he thinks. Now he dutifully takes the medication when the orderly brings it in, and mimes swallowing it. As soon as he is alone, he spits the pills out, and tries to gather whatever information he can by listening at the door. So far, all he has learned is that this whole floor is classified—only a few staff members are allowed to work on it. A few more snippets he collects suggest that he is not the only sane person unwillingly trapped in this hospital. Locking unwanted enemies away in an asylum is a lot more efficient then killing them—no body to dispose of, no evidence to deal with, and who would think about looking for a missing person inside a psychiatric hospital? The information does him little good, though, without a way to share it with his team on the outside. At least he hopes Hondo and the rest of the guys are still free. If all of them are trapped in this surreal nightmare, then he really is in trouble. The medication round had been, it feels like, hours ago and no one is in the hallway for him to eavesdrop on. Flopping down on his bed, Street stares at the ceiling. He has to come up with a way to keep his sanity intact. What did the guys in Nam do when they were in solitary at the POW camps to keep their heads together? Before he can ponder the thought too much, he hears a voice on the other side of the wall. It is the first time he has heard another patient on this floor. Maybe he is just hallucinating it…

Street hesitates, knowing that if he is wrong he has likely just spend up his own descent into madness. Then he raps his knuckles lightly against the wall to catch the attention of the occupant in the other room. “Hello?” he hopes his voice is loud enough to make it through to her. “Can you hear me?”

[mochascorner]

A Ding, a Dent, and a Death

Don’t you just love when you tell yourself to “write, just write - doesn’t matter what. It’s all just practice” and so as a result you end up with ten thousand little ficlets that will never be expanded upon? Don’t you love that? I love that. I love that so much. It’s so fun. I love drowning in tiny little story snippets. Yay.

———

“He's going to kill you.” Legend says bluntly. He leans back against the tree he’d been peacefully napping against earlier. He sets aside Four's shield down. "I can't fix this. And even if I could, there's no way Four wouldn't notice the repair job."

Wild moans into his knees, "But I thought you said you were a smith!"

"I never finished my apprenticeship." Legend sniffs.

"But you know the basics don't you?" Wind asks curiously. He'd been drawn over from the other side of camp by the promise of mischief, and now stayed to watch the end of what was sure to be a disaster. The sailor takes the shield to examine the damage himself.

"Isn't this an easy enough fix? How hard can it be to reattach the straps and buff out a few scratches and dents?" He turns the shield over in his hands, running calloused fingers down metal, "I've done maintenance on my own shield before and this doesn't look much worse than mine did after my battle with Molgera. I patched mine well enough, and I didn't even know anything about metalworking!"

"Yeah!" Wild's head pops up from his legs to gesture wildly at Wind, clinging to hope "And surely if a complete novice like Wind can buff out a few dents then someone with actual training can manage this! C'mon Leg! Give it a shot!"

Legend shots them both an annoyed look, "If you think it's so easy then why not do it yourself?"

"Because I don't fix things, Vet. I break them."

Fair enough.

Legend waves them off impatiently, "It's not a matter of being able to fix it. It's a matter of fixing it to a degree that Four won't notice - which he definitely will. If this was Wars or even the Old Man we were talking about, I'd give it a shot. But Four's got too good an eye for this stuff. He's a Master Smith - that's not just a title you slap on any two-bit metalworker who knows what a pair of tongs are. Four would spot someone else's work on his equipment in a heartbeat."

Legend takes the shield out of Wind's hands and dumps it in Wild's reluctant ones. The champion acts like Legend just handed him a lit bomb.

"Look," Legend tells him, "You're not getting out of this. Best to bite the arrow and explain it to Four before the smith chooses to beat the truth out of you. You're going to spill the beans either way - it's time to just minimize the damage."

"That's what I'm trying to do!" Wild wails. His eyes grow to the size of dinner plates as he quickly checks over his shoulder to make sure no angry smiths were in the vicinity. Luckily for him, Four was still out helping Twilight with the wash.

Wild lowers his voice anyway, "Look, I'm going to tell Four what happened regardless. I'm not trying to hide anything. But I was just thinking that if I could fix the damage before he gets back then maybe he won’t be so angry."

"Not a chance," Legend punctures Wild's octo balloon of false hope, "If anything, he'll end up even more pissed that an amature tried to fix it at all. One thing I learned in my apprenticeship?It's easier to do it right the first time than it is to have to work around someone else's sloppy attempts."

Not to mention that if Legend so much as breathed on the shield then he’d end up on the chopping block, too. And while the Veteran would take a sword or an arrow for the champion, he wasn't going to take a pissed off Four.

Wild, seeing the clear lack of sympathy, switched tactics. “I can't believe you're chickening out of a challenge. What, do you do sloppy work or something?"

"Compared to Four I do." Legend refuses to be baited into signing his own death certificate. He gives Wild a very severe look to make that clear.

Wild groans dramatically again and flops face-down on the grass. Wind leans down from his seat to pat him patronizingly.

"It's okay bud," The sailor comforts, "Four's a reasonable guy. I'm sure he'll understand."

From the opposite side of their log-turned bench, Legend snorts ungracefully.

“Oh yeah, sure. I'm sure Four will totally understand you using his favorite shield to stupidly surf down a hill. You know, the shield he basically fist fought a Like-Like for. The one he values more than his own life."

"I didn't mean to!" Wild rolls onto his back and put his face in his hands in shame. He really hadn't meant to use Four’s shield at all - it was just a terminal case of absent mindedness that caused this whole predicament!

An unfortunate side effect of using a constantly-revolving roster of weapons and shields is that Wild never really learned to distinguish his things from others'. He'd always operated on a very simple set of rules:

1. Was it strapped to someone else? Not his.

2. Was it on the floor and unguarded? His.

Wild made an effort to remember that that wasn't always the case, especially now that he was traveling with a group. But sometimes he simply forgot and instinct took over. It was hardly the first time he'd nabbed someone else's weapon to use without thinking about it, although it was the first time he'd broken something.

(Well, aside from the Master Sword incident. But they don't talk about the Master Sword incident and Sky sleeps with his sword now, anyway.)

And of all the things to break it just had to Four's beloved shield.

And now Wild was going to die.

Again.

[ketterdam-it]

Mr.Crow

This is a sad-ish Kanej as parents oneshot with a happy ending! I’ve been tinkering with this idea for a while now!

Thank y’all for the support to get me here! Here’s my hundredth Instagram post, I hope y’all love it <3

“____” indicates time passing!

Jordie laughs, and Inej marvels at the sound, so light and carefree, she wishes she could keep it in a jar to listen to when the nights feel all too dark. The laughs echo through the small home, it’s still too large for just the two of them.

He’s only six months old and she can’t help but be amazed at how much he’s already grown. It fills her heart with warmth, for a moment she forgets the hole within her heart.

Jordie’s holding a toy, one of his favorites, a stuffed crow Kaz had gotten him when he was born. Mr.Crow, he’s called it, it feels so long ago, yet almost as if it were yesterday. The knife of grief plunges deep into her heart.

He has warm gold skin, closer to her own bronze, but his brown eyes are a shade of bitter tea dissimilar to Inej. He has Kaz’s eyes, it’s unmistakeable.

She watches him as he holds up the crow, babbling to it, and toward the empty chair beside him. He hasn't said his first word yet, she knows it's far too early for that, but his babblings are happy, and occasionally peppered with laughter. That's enough for Inej.

____

It's been a long day, the longest in a while. Just as Inej flops into bed, Jordie cries, and she's forced up. She sighs, pushing herself from the comfort of the mattress, she's so tired. Please, just go to sleep. He's been getting fussier ever since he began teething, and the dark circles beneath her eyes are more than enough proof.

She walks out of her room, and into the one beside it. Like a switch being flipped, the wailing subsides, turning into playful giggles as he clutches Mr.Crow. But Jordie hasn't even seen her yet. No, he's focused on his crow toy and the other side of the seemingly empty room.

Perhaps Inej would be worried, perhaps she would feel uneasy, but she's far too tired, and far too relieved he's worked it out on his own.

____

Letters have come in, from Wylan and Jesper, letters that have been left unanswered for weeks now. Inej has been busy, and there are many other thoughts that claim a higher importance for her than letters.

Over the past month Jordie has become more and more fascinated by the chair, Kaz's chair. And perhaps she'd notice, if there weren't so much to do, if it weren't something seemingly normal for a baby, if she weren't so damn tired. But sometimes nightmares haunt you more than the real thing, and she doesn't sleep much. When she does, it is not restful.

____

She misses him, and apparently she ponders on it for a moment too long, because Jordie begins to cry in her arms. She often loses herself in a universe of pain now, she’s thankful to always be brought back by the child in her arms.

"Well how about Mr.Crow and you play for a minute while Mama does some dishes, alright?" She asks, remembering he's only a baby, one which understands exactly three of those words. She shakes her head at herself as she sets him in his crib, placing the plush crow in his tiny hands. She really needs to get some sleep.

Thank the Saints for Mr.Crow.

____

8 letters and 7 weeks, she’s felt bad, truly, but only tonight is it finally enough to open them, and to respond, or try to at least. She placed Jordie in his crib with Mr.Crow a few minutes before, and now she has the freedom to sit down, to take a moment to herself.

A silent argument within her is battled out before she finally picks one up, the oldest. It says what she thought it would say, how they miss her, and Jordie, and they should visit, but they don't mention him and she sets the letter down. Disappointment and relief fight for a place within her.

She finally brings herself to pen her response, hours later, once she's read and reread all of the letters. But Inej is busy, and it sits on the counter for two weeks, still unsent.

_____

Three weeks, another letter, she feels bad, she really does, but she's exhausted. Her two saviors? Coffee and Mr.Crow.

It’s early in the morning when she gets a free moment to spare, she reads the letter quickly while Jordie is occupied. They miss her, and they forgive her for not replying, they're so glad she finally responded and are excited to see her next month.

What? She is not that tired, she wasn’t that tired. She never mailed her letter, and it never said anything about a visit. What is going on? Inej feels as though she's going mad, even so, that feeling ins't too uncommon these days. Grief is the worst kind of monster.

Jordie screams, startling Inej from her thoughts. Oh no. She runs out of the room, and to him. When she arrives, mere moments later, he's holding out Mr.Crow, and babbling toward the chair, happy babbling. It was a happy scream, thank the Saints.

"Jordie, who are you talking to?" She says with a laugh, shaking her head and walking over to scoop him up. He’s given her a real fright with that scream.

He looks at her, giggling, "Da!" He exclaims, clapping his hands together. Inej’s souls feels as though it’s being torn apart all over again, yet sewn right back up at once.

The curtain from the open window behind Jordie flutters a bit, a warm air surrounds her, it’s a soft comfort, like the softest hug. A hug so close to what Kaz used to give. A single tear slips from her eye, because she knows.

He is here with them, he never left her, he never left Jordie.

[catsnkooks]

Couple's Costume

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Quinlan Vos

summary: Quinlan wants them to wear a couple's costume for this year's Halloween party. Obi-Wan doesn't. They compromise.

word count: 740

rating: t

warnings: none, just fluff!

a/n: for @gayskywalkcrs for the @starwarsfandomfests Halloween exchange!

here it is on ao3!

“Quinlan Vos, I am not wearing that!”

Quinlan—the bastard—pouted at Obi-Wan, eyes wide as he pleaded. “Aw, c’mon, please?” He dragged out the last syllable of the word until Obi-Wan rolled his eyes at him.

“Absolutely not, one of us has to think about our dignity,” he said, crossing his arms with finality.

Quinlan huffed and flopped down dramatically on Obi-Wan’s bed. “Not like you have any left,” he muttered, low, but not low enough for Obi-Wan to not hear him.

“Besides what would the masters think?” Obi-Wan asked sitting down beside his boyfriend.

Quinlan snorted, an arm still covering his eyes. “I’ve seen Mace in worse.” Then he removed the arm, staring up at Obi-Wan again with large pleading eyes. “You know if you loved me, you’d wear the costume.”

Obi-Wan just stared at him. Quinlan stuck out his trembling lower lip, his eyes watering up as if he were going to cry. And Obi-Wan still stared at him, determined not to break.

“No.”

Quinlan wailed and flopped over onto his stomach. “You don’t love me! How cruel my boyfriend is!”

Obi-Wan groaned, raking a hand down his face. The things he did for love.

---

“Nice costume, sir.”

Obi-Wan glared at his former commander, who was grinning shamelessly at him. “Don’t, Cody.”

Cody chuckled, moving to stand beside the other man. “Very creative. Did Vos get you into that?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan sighed. “It was his idea to do a couples costume.” He tried to tug down the too short shorts that Quin had gotten him into.

“I think you two might win the costume contest.”

“Better hope not for Quin’s sake,” Obi-Wan muttered. Then he turned to Cody, smiling. “You and your brothers will have my vote, Cody. You all went all out this year.”

Cody grinned, tipping his wide-brimmed hat to Obi-Wan. He was dressed as a famous monster-hunter from a corny horror movie. Rex was in a blow-up costume of a large lizard creature bearing his name, and Wolffe was a loth-wolf. “Thank you, we thought it was appropriate.”

Just then, Quinlan came up from behind Obi-Wan, interrupting them. “Cody! Nice costume, man.”

“Thanks, yours is nice, too.”

Obi-Wan could practically feel Quinlan’s grin as he rolled his eyes. “Thanks! Obes here didn’t want to do it with me at first, but I was able to convince him to put it on.”

Obi-Wan glared at his boyfriend. “Because it’s inappropriate, Quinlan.”

Quin waved away his words. “Pssh, it’s fine. Like I said, I’ve seen Mace in worse.” Then he hiccupped.

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes, noticing the glass of a bubbly liquid in Quin’s hand. “Have you been drinking? It’s not even nine o’clock!”

“That’s the whole point of the party, Obes.”

“Quinlan, there are younglings present, you can’t get drunk.”

“Hey, don’t insult Cody like that.”

“Quin—! You know what I meant!”

Cody chuckled again beside them, leaving them to bicker.

---

Obi-Wan dragged his boyfriend through the Temple’s halls, heading toward their room. At some point during the night, Quinlan had lost his crop top, and it was only through a miracle of the Force that Obi-Wan was able to convince him to keep the shorts on. Obi-Wan struggled with one hand as he waved the door to their room open. Quinlan was no help, currently staggering beside his boyfriend, humming a broken tune under his breath.

Obi-Wan tossed the other man onto their bed when they entered. Quinlan giggled as he took off his shorts, leaving him in his underwear.

“Well, hello there,” Quinlan giggled, waggling his eyebrows.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, slapping his face with a pillow. “Go to sleep, idiot, before you regret yourself in the morning.”

Quinlan snickered but took the pillow, rucking up the sheets in an effort to wrap himself up in them. Obi-Wan took off his own costume, setting aside a painkiller pill and glass of water for Quinlan in the morning, before crawling into bed beside him.

Quinlan snuggled up behind him as soon as he was between the sheets, not even grumbling as Obi-Wan pressed his cold feet against his legs.

“You know,” he slurred, “we may not have won the costume contest, but I still think you looked amazing. Thank you for wearing it.”

Obi-Wan smiled. Despite his complaints, he really would do anything to make his boyfriend happy. “Of course, Quin. I love you.”

Quin kissed the back of his neck. “Love you, too.”

[starkeristheendgame]

Hi! Are you still taking prompts? If yes, can you do a Starker one, where Tony is oblivious, and Peter doesn't know what to do, and ask for help to a close friend of Tony and they try to make him jealous by pretending to date and Tony is like of course he is with him he's everything i'm not and having a total breakdown and peter realize that they hurt tony instead and ask for forgivenes and end up together, pleasee? Thank you! If you aren't please just ignore this!

Against my better judgement, my prompts are never closed! Thank you so much for this super sweet/angsty prompt, Nonnie! I realised after finishing this that I never directly included Peter asking for forgiveness, but I hope this feeds you just the same! ❤

TW: Angst | Hurt/Comfort | Self-worth issues | Jealousy | Alcohol mention

SFW

Harley Keener is two years Peter’s senior and nicer than Peter could have ever imagined. When Tony had first started to talk about the ‘the first one he pseudo-adopted’ and how Harley had grown into more of a ‘mini me’ than he could’ve imagined, Peter had felt an uncomfortable twist in his gut. 

What if Harley was better than him?

What if Tony liked Harley more?

What if, with Harley around, Tony didn’t want Peter around anymore?

He needn’t have worried, though. Harley wasn’t as ‘outwardly’ nerdy as he was, but he was more than happy to gush over the latest Star Wars LEGO offerings, and Tony snarked them both in equal measure. It was surprisingly like having another Ned around, and it took less than a week for Peter to feel stupid for having worried about his place besides the two of them. 

Tony even joked that Harley was the ‘prototype’ and Peter was the ‘updated model’, to which Harley had just rolled his eyes, knocked Tony’s spanner off the table like a cat and gone straight back to talking to Peter about ComicCon.

They became fast friends, and Peter supposed that was somewhat why he tended to forget there was a second person in the lab with them here and there, starkly (heh) reminded of it when Harley flopped down next to him on the penthouse couch one evening and said; “so how long have you been in love with Tony?” 

He could have cried. The Avengers he was around almost every other day for the past two years brushed off his doting as a hero complex and ‘mentor crush’ and it had taken Harley Keener less than three weeks to call him out on its true nature. 

Naturally and mortifyingly it ended up with Peter sniffling against Harley’s shoulder, wailing about how Tony was out of his league, how every single possible thing that could was against them, and how worst of all; Tony wasn’t interested. 

“He’s interested,” Harley had shrugged, gingerly plucking a tissue from the box and holding it out to him. He’d been somewhat cryptic about the basis of his statement, but had enthusiastically proposed a manner of ways in which it could be proven. And Peter…

Peter agreed to one. 

He didn’t know why. He wasn’t exactly a glutton for punishment and he certainly didn’t get his kicks out of being humiliatingly, crushingly rejected, but...But Harley had said so make jealous. Tony always wants everything, and when he thinks he can’t have something he just tries harder to get it and Peter had inexplicably said yes. 

Unfortunately (or fortunately, Peter didn’t quite know which) the only real, viable option was...Harley himself. None of the other Avengers would work; since they were all taken, straight and/or highly unlikely to be receptive to fake-dating a teen half (or more) their age. 

Neither Ned or MJ had access to the Tower or could really be around any SHIELD, Stark or Avengers activity, and that left quite literally no-one else but Harley. 

“I mean, in a way, its perfect. I’m the grandmaster of the plan anyway, and you don’t have to wordy about hurting my feelings or me falling for you. We can collaborate flawlessly to get you some Grand-Daddy dick,” Harley hummed around the stick candy in his mouth, and Peter wasn’t quite sure what part of that sentence offended him the most. 

“Does literally nobody want me?” he pouted, bottom lip pushed out dramatically as he kicked Harley’s leg out of the way and picked up the PS5 controller. 

“Hey, chin up, munchkin. You’re prettier than half the girls I know. I’m just not wired that way.”

“You’re straight?”

“I’m not anything. It’s like asexuality and aromantic, but both,” Harley pulled a face, clearly trying to remember the term, then shrugged. “Ah, I can never remember it. Anyway, point is, I’m not interested in anyone. You’re a little cherub, for sure, but you’re cute like a cat, not suck-my-dick cute.”

And, well. Cute like a cat? He considered that a high compliment. 

Thus, Operation Get That Grand-Daddy Dick (Peter did not name it) was underway. They both agreed to keep it natural and subtle, since Tony walking in on them half-naked or all over each other was just likely to spook him off. They’d edge into it; hint that they were spending more time together, act a little cosier, maybe get caught holding hands after a week or two. 

In truth, it wasn’t all that different to how they had been before, except that Harley made his smiles even softer, a little more secretive and let his gaze linger when he was sure Tony would notice. They sat and stood closer together than before, and here and there Harley would press a lingering hand to his back or arm. 

They made sure when one or both left they secreted away just out of sight and took a little too long, standing close together by the elevator and making sure to hug ‘longingly’ (whatever that meant in context) should Tony happen to peek. 

And yet for all his smarts, Tony didn’t seem to particularly notice anything amiss until the first time that he spotted them ‘romantically hugging’. Harley was actually a very good hugger, and they stood in front of the elevator together, with Peter facing it and Harley facing the lab. Harley had his chin over Peter’s shoulder and his hands low and tight on his waist, holding him close. 

“Spotted,” Harley whispered quietly, and moments later Tony spoke up. 

“Well that looks cosy.”

Tony’s voice was carefully level, no betrayal of emotion as Peter shyly disentangled himself from Harley, taking a step away as though caught doing something he shouldn’t. He didn’t have to fake the heat in his cheeks when he glanced up at where Tony stood, arms folded, and he fumbled with the strap of his backpack, glancing across at Harley before he gave Tony a meek smile. 

“Um, I’ll-- I’ll see you Friday, Mr. Stark!” he chirped, shuffling around Harley and into the elevator. Tony was still staring at him as the doors began to close, and Harley turned, casting him a wink and a finger-waggling wave. Peter waved back sheepishly and the moment the doors were shut, he whipped out his phone. 

[To: Thing 1] Did he look mad? It looked like he looked mad. Omg. U gotta tell me anything he says :// [19:31]

Harley did in fact text him back two hours later, though there wasn’t much to report. Tony had made a few flippant remarks that could either be parental interest or slight jealousy, and had dropped the subject after a short while in order to focus on his latest project.

Peter slumped. There was snails who had a faster moving love life than he did. With a groan, he stuffed the last of his anxiety snacks in his mouth and flopped back against his pillow to discuss the next step with Harley. 

Social media was their next plan of attack. Tony followed Peter on Instagram and Twitter, and had his Snapchat even if the older man rarely used the platform, so they were going to up the pressure by hanging out outside of the lab (which they did anyway) and posting it to social media. 

It was too soon to cancel plans with Tony to hang out with Harley (and frankly, Peter didn’t want to anyway) so they simply both made themselves unavailable on certain other days, or hung out together without mentioning it to Tony beforehand. 

They got ice cream at the park, went to the art museum downtown, visited several different cultural/ethnic based stores and went to the arcade to kick ass at air hockey over the course of a few weeks, all while keeping up the poorly secretive touching and closeness at the lab. 

And he’d still have more luck getting blood from a stone.

Tony seemed...Either completely oblivious, or just completely unphased. Whilst Peter caught him watching them here and there with an unreadable expression, Tony never directly asked them or overtly commented on what was happening. There was the odd, “enjoy the park yesterday, kid?” or “saw your post the other day, you should try this place next,” but never anything along the lines of what Peter hoped for. 

Even Harley was starting to doubt his original statement that Tony was definitely interested. 

Especially when Tony was the one who started cancelling plans, telling them both to ‘go enjoy themselves’ and ‘live the lives of young people’. He didn’t do it all the time, but here and there they’d both receive a text telling them not to come today. The lingering looks got longer and more weighted, but even so, Tony made no move in either aspect. 

“I think I’m just gonna have to give it up,” Peter admitted to Harley one night over the phone, hanging upside down in his bedroom with the phone dangling on a web besides him. 

“Maybe he’s just not ready for anything right now?” Harley suggested on the other end, between the frantic sounds of tapping buttons. 

“Maybe-- Oh, hang on. I’ve got an inbound from JARVIS. It might be Avengers stuff,” Peter hummed, quickly twisting to tap on the screen to accept the incoming call from JARVIS. 

“Hey, J. What’s up?” He greeted the AI, blinking at the call screen. 

“Apologies for the disturbance, Mr. Parker, but protocol deems that when Mr. Stark is in distress I establish contact with someone on his emergency list in order to inform them.” The AI’s voice was as smooth and unhurried as ever, but Peter frowned at the screen. 

“Distress?”

“Yes, Mr. Parker. Sir’s heart-rate is elevated and he is displaying significant symptoms of sadness, including light drinking, darkened lighting and angered viewing of your social media.”

“Angered viewing of my social media?” Peter echoed, fear ratcheting up as he dropped from the ceiling and moved to tug on a pair of shoes. Fuck, had he let something sip? Was there something in the background of his photos? Had someone figured out who he was? He was hopping towards the door on one foot when JARVIS spoke again, and he had to hop back to pull his phone down from the web. 

“Why is he sad over that? Did I do something wrong?”

JARVIS was silent for a short while, as though the AI was debating on how best to respond. 

“I... Believe Sir may be feeling lonely. Or unworthy of company. There have been a multitude of such instances over the past several years,” JARVIS replied after a pause, as Peter locked the web shooters around his wrist and tugged the Spiderman mask over his head to avoid any cameras, crawling out of his window and leaping out into the brisk air. 

It didn’t take long to swing to the Tower, especially not when panic and concern had him pushing it, testing his muscles and leaving him slightly out of breath by the time he slipped onto the top landing console. 

JARVIS directed him through to the penthouse and up the set of 12 steps that lead to the ‘upper level’ of it, to an open doorway that revealed Tony Stark sprawled out on his bed, staring blankly at his phone with a neglected, half-open bottle of whiskey loose in one arm, like a newborn babe. 

“Mr. Stark?” he asked softly, and Tony’s gaze flit up to him, clearing immediately. His mentor cursed and jerked upright, almost sloshing the whole bottle over his bedding. 

“Shit! Kid! Wh’r you doin’ here?” Tony’s voice was just hinting on slurred, the same easiness and lack of concentration that came when you’d had a shot too many. Or five. Peter’s heart cinched as he stared at Tony gingerly putting the bottle on the bedside table, at the redness of his eyes and the messiness of his hair where he’d been running a hand through it, over and over. 

“JARVIS called me. He said you were sad,” Peter managed after a moment, hands wringing the mask between his fingers nervously. He’d never seen Tony like this, this...uncomposed. He looked haggard, tired and sad, and it made Peter feel empty and adrift, unsure of how to approach this new version of the man he loved. 

“Fucking snitch,” the older man grumbled half-heartedly, and rubbed his hands over his eyes. “Shit. Don’t-- Ignore me, kid. Adults my age are entitled to a night like this once in a while. Go back home, I’m fine. Fuck, you didn’t leave Harley for this, did you?”

“Harley?” Peter parroted, brows furrowing as Tony waved a hand. 

“Go on, kid. Get. Make the most of being young and pretty with someone young and pretty.” Tony reached for the bottle again and Peter found himself striding across the room, placing himself in the way of Tony’s outstretched hand and the whiskey. Tony’s fingertips brushed his stomach and recoiled like he’d been burnt by the contact.

“Mr. Stark, do you think I don’t want to hang out with you anymore?” he asked after a moment, voice fragile. God, he’d hoped to maybe make Tony a little jealous, but nothing like this. He hadn’t wanted to hurt him. And he clearly had. There was nothing but rawness in Tony’s eyes when the older man looked up at him. 

“I’m not taking it personally,” his mentor attempted to joke, but it came out bitter and too flat to land lightly. Peter’s heart cinched in his chest and he shuffled to sit on the edge of the large bed, teeth on his lower lip as Tony turned away from his gaze. 

“Mr. Stark, I’ve never...I’ve never not wanted to hang out with you. Even if I have other friends, too,” he pointed out tentatively, and Tony scoffed lightly. 

“You’re too good for a world like this, shortstack. For someone like me. You should be trailing after someone like Captain Uptight,” Tony muttered lowly, and Peter scowled.

“You’re not less better than he is. Both of you are good people. Both of you make mistakes. Both of you save the world.”

Tony’s brows pinched, and he breathed out something that just barely sounded like then why aren’t I good enough?

Making an executive decision, Peter toed off his sneakers and crawled further up onto the bed, picking up Tony’s arm and settling down against his side, curling up under his arm and wrapping his own around Tony’s waist. 

He could feel Tony’s heart thumping wildly in his chest, could feel his breath hitch and the hesitant way that Tony let his arm settle over Peter, fingers curling in his hoodie. 

“You are,” he offered simply, squeezing gently. “This is my fault. I was acting like a dumb kid, and I thought... I should’ve known that it was just gonna end badly.”

“Is being my mini-me really that bad?” Tony choked out, and Peter pushed himself upright, alarmed. 

“What? No! Mr. Stark, being around you is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I don’t ever ever regret being around you! I just... I have to…” He trailed off for a moment, frustrated, then prayed to Harley for forgiveness and sucked in a deep breath. 

“I’m not actually dating Harley. At all. He doesn’t like people that way. Any people. We’re not boyfriends and I don’t want to stop spending time with you to spend time with him. I like spending time with you and you’re still my hero. Tony Stark or Iron Man,” he stated firmly. 

Tony looked at him for a moment, then looked away. 

“You should be with Harley, kid. Or someone like him. Not someone like me. Not someone with my history. I’m a shit person, kid. All this Iron Man stuff hasn’t even wiped half my scoreboard clean. Someone like Harley... He’s the better parts of me. Like you. He’s worth your love”.

Tony seemed almost startled at saying that word, twitching a little before he attempted to turn away from Peter again, gaze finding the far end of the room like he wished he was anywhere but here. 

Peter fidgeted, then sucked in a deep breath. “Please don’t hate me after this,” he fumbled out quickly, then rolled half on top of the older man, hands fisting in the front of his shirt as he leaned forwards. 

The kiss was awkward and clumsy and couldn’t have lasted for than two seconds before Tony pulled away, eyes wide and voice rough. 

“Kid, what-- You can’t--”

“If you say you’re not interested, I’ll respect that,” Peter interrupted. “Or if you say I’m too young or whatever. But if you say anything along the lines you of not being enough, or not being worthy, or-- or-- Or whatever it is you feel you aren’t... You’re wrong. The reason me and Harley were acting like that is because I was trying to make you jealous.”

“What-”

“And I know its dumb! I don’t it was childish and I never thought it would hurt you like this. But I’ve lo-- I’ve really liked you. For years. And I know you’re a lot older and we might never be able to be...To be...Normal. I guess. But I want whatever I can get with you, because you’re worth it,” Peter barrelled on, desperate to at least be heard before Tony kicked him out. Except when he trailed off Tony was just... Staring at him.

“It’s just... Hero worship. You still think I’m some magical superhero and you--”

“No offence, Mr. Stark, but you don’t know what I think. Not when it comes to you, clearly,” Peter cut in, cheeks heating at being so brash. Prior to this he wouldn’t have ever dreamed about being so direct and forceful against Tony. 

Well. Not in any PG-rated sense, anyway. 

“Just... We don’t have to talk about it now, okay?” eh offered, sliding off Tony just a little so he was back up against his side, wriggling around until he could grab the faux fur throw on the bottom of the bed, pulling it up over both of them. Tony remained quiet at his side, just watching as he got them both settled. 

“Just... I’m gonna stay, alright? Right here. With you. Because this is where I want to be, and its where I’m gonna stay until... Until you tell me to leave.” His lower lip threatened to wobble with mounting emotion as he lay his head on Tony’s chest, feeling the thick ridges of his scars beneath his shirt. 

A moment later, Tony’s hand settled lightly over his head, fingers sliding tentatively into his hair. 

“And if I never tell you to leave? If I’m selfish and never want to let you go?” the other man whispered. 

“Then I guess that makes us both selfish, because that would make me happy,” Peter mumbled into his chest, wrapping his arm tighter around Tony’s waist. The room went silent for a while, save for their breathing and Tony’s heart thumping beneath his ear. 

“Okay,” Tony rasped after a moment, and Peter smiled. 

“Okay, Hazel Grace.”

“...What?”

“Nevermind. You’re too old for that reference.”

“You’re a little shit.”

[unreone]

Aren't You Glad to Have a Boyfriend Like Me?

PROMPT: SERIAL KILLER

Time Taken: 42 hrs 14 min (on/off)

Program Used: IBis Paint

Word Count: 4133

♥~♥~♥~♥~♥

She beamed as I present to her my gift. An expensive perfume that she saw on a shop five days ago. She is squealing in delight at the second she recognize it.

"Oh my gosh! Thank you, thank you, thank you!!! I can't believe that you manage to buy it~

How could I even return the favor?"

I laugh at how cute she is being right now. Little did she know, I did not even spend a single cent to get it. Wait...no I actually have. Just not mine.

"Don't worry, Giggles. To see your smile is enough for me to say it's worth it."

Nice, that's a smooth one Cuddles. My remark brought a blush on her angelic face. She then pulls me into a hug, something that I expected to get but could still appreciate.

"Aww, this is why I love you my fluffybuns. I'm so glad to have a boyfriend like you!"

I smile as I pat her head. Her wonderful scent wafts in the air as I caress her soft, pink fur. Oh how much I wanted to stay like this forever. However, a ring destroys the moment.

Both of us stop and look at each other. Withdrawing, she apologize and picks up her phone from her shoulder bag. I watch her expression change from bright to neutral and then grim.

"I know I understand...I will be there as soon as I can."

She ended the call.

"Something's wrong?"

She looks at me with guilt in her eyes. I could tell that she wanted to stay a little bit longer but the call has given her a reason not to.

"I am so sorry Cuddles but I have to go. The nurses who are suppose to work right now got into an accident and Lumpy couldn't handle it all by himself at the hospital. I guess I need to start my shift early."

What a bummer. Her shift is supposed to begin five hours from now. Despite feeling unpleasant, I manage to keep my cool.

"Ah don't worry my love. I understand. Just call me when you need a backup."

"Oh Cuddles. The world will be a better place if critters are as understanding as you. See ya later then. I love you!"

She pecks me in my cheek and runs toward the location of a bus stop. I truly adore her. Cupping my hands around my mouth, I shout out my response.

"I love you more!"

She turns around and copies my volume.

"I love you more than anything!"

Oh Giggles, my love for you is so much that I'm willing to do anything for you...

I wave my hand at her as she runs away. I did not stop until she is out of my sight. I sighed and walks away. I guess I have to continue my mission early too.

Pushing the boulder away from a certain spot, I stoop to pull the hidden latch, opening the entry to a bunker.

Jumping down, I swiftly takes my bag full of supplies and a vacuum cleaner. I also wear the "job outfit" that I borrow from a certain friend that must not be named.

After climbing up the ladder carrying my props, I close the hatch and push the boulder back to its original place.

As I stroll towards the house of my next target, I found myself recounting the moments I accomplished my first goal. It was...exhilarating. The adrenaline I got is much more than the one I have while skydiving.

True, I felt remorse and a tiny bit of guilt after doing it but I'd be lying if I say I regret everything. In the end, watching how that pedobear mofo suffers from my own paws is satisfying, and that's all that matters.

Critters tends to underestimate me since I'm just a kid in their eyes. Yeah I admit that I'm immature most of the times, but that doesn't mean I'm incapable of doing serious stuff. I watch enough movies and documentaries to say I know a thing or two with slaying rivals creatively.

It all starts with swaying the prey. Luring him is unsurprisingly not that hard. I just have to send him pictures and epic one liners on his inbox at that stupid dating app and boom! Charmed. He's willing to meet me at a specific, secluded place only me and him know. Never suspecting anything for a bit. He's like a really dumb fish who suddenly bites the bait despite a hook sticking through it!

As the fool arrived at my rented apartment room, he did not see the lover of the girl he always flirts with. Instead, he sees a purple female bunny wearing a cute outfit named Toodles who is infatuated with him. I let him in and offer snacks and tea, which he blindly accepts. As he eat, we talks just as the way we do in our chat.

I remember how he makes that disgusting face at me that he dubbed as his "fierce and flirty look" from time to time.

I am keeping myself from puking at the moment as he leans forward with that breath, asking me for a dance.

Despite feeling unpleasant, I manage to keep my cool. I did not become the best actor in drama club for nothing. I have to convince him that my character is so into him. So I did what I have to do in my script.

I pull him even closer, catching him off guard and making the pathetic asshole blush. This malicious pervert flipping blush! I can't even express my repulsion against this filthy degenerate.

"Maybe I would if you finish your tea~" I muttered in perfect, feminine tone.

Oh I just really smile as I saw that he finally ingested the damn fluid into his system. He, however, thinks it's because I fell in love with him. He drinks the whole cup in one go!

He was extending his hand out to me, about to say something, but found himself unable to do so. Or do anything else at all. His hand trembles before he collapses to the floor. I giggled as he flops like a fish. His mouth is gaping as he try so hard to breathe. He looks up at me with utter confusion in his eyes. Can't talk dirty now that you're paralyzed huh sicko?

"Nothing personal Disco. It's just that I heard that you're really messing around this town. You're pretty famous for being a headache for everyone. Now, let me tell you something. This is for harassing and killing every girl you encountered ~"

I grab the kettle and pour its boiling hot contents on his chest. Oh how euphoric it was to see him writhes in pain. The scent of his burnt flesh fills the room. I was grinning ear to ear as I watch in fascination how the tea spreads all over his fur.

"And this is for assaulting my brother's girlfriend, Giggles~"

I suddenly smashed the kettle on his crotch. He would be wailing in pain at the time if his throat isn't numb. All that came out in his mouth is pitiful gurgles as he pees on the floor. I move and stand besides his ugly face. My entire body is quivering in excitement and rage as I clutch on the shattered kettle tightly.

"And this is for killing her with a fucking kettle you ignorant pimp~"

And with that, I found myself bludgeoning the shittyhead over and over again with a kettle until he resembles a squashed tomato. I keep bashing on his shattered skull even after he stopped twitching. Finally, I stepped on his heart with my heels to satisfy my ears with that squelching flesh. Then, I went to the bathroom to shower the dye away. It takes me four hours to remove the fake color entirely off my fur. Of course, I did not leave without taking his wallet.

It's been three days since the incident and I haven't seen him around, which is a good sign. What I've done is super effective. I think after all that, he wouldn't bother Giggles anymore. Heck, I am confident enough to say that he wouldn't even dare to look at any girl ... hehehe ... look. Something that my next victim couldn't do. That makes everything easier.

I found myself on front of the house I seek. I casually walk towards the doorstep and press the doorbell.

Now I would have skip Mole over since the idiot mistaken Lumpy as Giggles on their blind date. That means, my motivation of killing him is not jealousy if that's what you're thinking. No. It's something deeper than that.

His obliviousness and idiocy is what ticks me off. He killed my precious girl by literally stealing her heart with a freaking stick. Then he just throws it in a filthy thrash bag like it was nothing. Oh how much I wanted to punch him square in the face when I see him pries the door open. But I didn't.

Sounding lanky and awkward, I announced my assumed identity.

"Randell of Happy Tree Cleaners, leaving your homes squeaky clean. Our company is very sorry since we couldn't send Petunia today. However, I am here to take her place. I hope you wouldn't mind, sir."

"Oh. Of course I wouldn't mind at all lad but I think you came pretty early."

Feigning confusion, I responded to him in a shameful tone (which I applaud myself for such a convincing performance).

"Oh I truly am sorry sir. I'm still new to the job and kinda not listening to my superior when she's passing the information over the phone..."

"Ah a newbie. No, don't worry at all. I actually admire you! Working so hard, always ready to face the task at hand as immediately as possible. You're also modest. You remind me of myself back in my younger days..."

Then a long time was wasted for his flashback that I could not see. I really hate delays but I'm not rushing so I let him do his thing.

"Oh silly me. What am I thinking letting you stand outside for so long! Come, enter my humble abode young one."

I thanked him as I went inside. The contents of my shoulder bag clatters against each other for every move I make.

As he leads me to the room he thought I'd bother to clean, I am appreciating the edginess of the vacuum's flexible hose that I'm holding. I am very proud to say I assembled it myself. I have tried it on cows and boy the precision of the cut was just fascinating. I left a clean hole through the chest of the dumb animal.

My eyes are locked on his back as he talks about taking pictures of a case that an evil mouse wanted or something like that. His keys are jiggling as he unlocked the door to his kitchen. He turns around to face me.

"-anyways, here we are in the kitchen, Early Randell. You may begin your "germ extermination," as Petunia put it."

"Oh, only she could do that sir. I have a different method and it's called "trash assassination."

"Really? Sorry to break it to you son, but I believe there's no such thing that's present in this room. There is just dust and dirty dishes."

"Excuse my language sir, but I could see one standing out in the middle of the room."

"Oh my, that must be the apple that I lost a while ago. Could you please take it out?"

"It's my pleasure to do so. After all..."

In a second, I thrusts the vacuum hose on his chest. It delights me how its end easily punctures through his clothes then his flesh. The idiot didn't react at first and only notice what I'm doing when I successfully take his heart out.

"The only thrash I see in this room is you. P.S. I know what you've done to Giggles. I'll come back if you repeat it again..."

He actually tries to escape but oh its just too late.

Resistance is futile after all, no matter how much you struggle old guy.

A few seconds pass before his body finally went limp. I smile as I let go of the vacuum hose.

Whistling the theme song of this town, I grab his filthy organ off of my vacuum. I take a moment to observe how it weakly pulses on my grasp. I find it fascinating that this thing is still beating despite its raptured state.

Then I pick the note I left from and continued whistling. I dump his heart into the thrash bag filled with decomposing materials and feces. If you're wondering where the heck it came from, its hidden inside the vacuum.

Of course I didn't want his heart to rot alone so I let his body join in. It's hilarious that his body would regenerate in there. Imagine respawning covered with shit.

I take out something out of my shoulder bag. Opening his fridge, I start lacing his food with cyanide. The medicines in his cupboard also get the same treatment. A sprinkle for this, a bunch on that and I'm done.

An hour was spent of taking care of the evidence. Cleaning is boring and tiresome but I have to do it. After disassembling the vacuum, disposing my outfit, sanitizing the floor and taking a bath, I went out of the house. I casually dump the garbages in the bin and then I take my leave. Two down, few more to go.

Up next is Flippy. He may seem to be an invincible rival but everyone have Achilles's heel – and I'm about to strike it. Wait, I'm not literally saying my target is the tendon at the back of his foot. The point is I know his weakness and its pathetic.

Currently, I am on my way to the psycho's location. My ears are flattened on the side of my head because of the hood of the black robe I'm wearing. My smiling skull mask is partially obscuring my sight. I am holding a blowgun disguised as a trumpet.

Anyway, for those who don't know what the flipping pants a blowgun is, it's a long narrow tube that shoots out an arrow or dart when someone breathes into it quickly and forcefully. Its content is not a dart though. It's peanuts.

Leaping few minutes forward, I am waiting at the entrance of an alleyway. My clothing blends well in the darkness. Flippy is visiting his psychotherapist and any minute now, he would leave the building and take the path in front of me.

Flippy... he is once my bro. He used to be the man I looked up on since he is serving the military from the age of 15. I thought he was cool but what he have done states he is far from that. We accepted him in our town and boy do I cursed the day that we did.

Turns out he gains an alter ego from the war who is a sadistic, bloodthirsty demon. Giggles and I have suffered hell from his paws. Now, it's payback time.

My thoughts were silenced by a voice whose source I'm too familiar with. As he walks into the desired spot, I blow the trumpet the hardest I possibly could. He screams, obviously surprised. Wasting no time, I push a certain button which allows air to pass through the blowgun. I watch a couple of peanuts shoots straight into his throat at bullet speed. All of this happened in just two seconds.

It seems that he didn't notice what just enter his mouth since he is busy catching up his breath. He looks stupid with his pupils dilated in fear. I toss the trumpet on the ground and run into the alleyway. He follows me, trying to match my speed. Amusingly, his body did not react instantly as I expected. Maybe it's because the number is fewer than the ones he ingested at the party.

"Darn it kid, why did you-"

It's not too long before he falls because of the tripwire I set up earlier. As I hear a dull thud, I turned around and smile.

He is groaning as his lips inflate. Multiple zits appeared on his face. His allergy reaction has rendered him immobile. I take out a knife from my shoulder bag, making sure he didn't see it.

His paws are trembling as he tried to stand. I am towering besides him when his limbs puffs up like a balloon.

"Something's wrong?"

Listening to his whimpers, I could tell how much he is suffering as his body painfully swells. I smirk as I kicked his ass hard, making him squeak in pain.

"You know you deserve it, Flip. If you can't handle the consequences, then you shouldn't have done these..."

As I said that last word, I throw photographs down for him to see. He knows he's to blame for all the mangled corpses in it. In the middle of it all is Giggles with a rose puncturing through her head.

I am overjoyed when I hear him cry. Oh the taste of victory is truly sweet. As time passes, he looks like a balloon animal more than anything. His arms give up since it couldn't support his weight anymore.

He mumbles something that resembles to an apology, which is empty since I've heard him say it countless times.

"You could only pay for your sins with death."

Desperate to live, he tries to drag himself forward, hoping he could move away from me. It's amusing that such an indestructible beast lives inside this wimp. We both know that those stubby fingers never help him in this situation in any way. It only makes him more pathetic.

I then dug my dull knife into his back and watch as his skin bursts. His body contorted as unimaginable pain washed over his body.

"What? You say you want more?"

I poked his shoulder with the tip of my blade and it explodes. The walls are painted by its disgusting contents. It's like I'm playing with a living bubble wrap.

"You like pain right? Don't you enjoy this? Huh? Huh!?"

I found myself caught in a frenzied mood of hacking and slashing. His body is constantly receiving new, multiple wounds. His ugly face is squeezed against the asphalt road. His head is twitching every time I plunge my weapon into his body.

For the final act, I hit the top of his head and zip his skull open, splitting his brain apart.

Panting heavily, I laugh. I've done it! I've defeated the unstoppable force. I stand to observe my work.

I turned around and meet the eyes of a preschooler dropping his lollipop. I could tell that he was about to take my trumpet when he saw something in the darkness moves. I guess my robe is really black. Imagine a floating skull smiling down at you.

He backs away as he saw the blood dripping from my gloves. I wave hi to him and he runs away. Yep, I just scarred a child's life forever. I have a pretty good feeling that he's gonna have nightmares about a skeleton and a trumpet tonight.

Welp, time to dispose this body. Good thing there's an incinerator conveniently placed at the end of this passage.

Dragging Flippy by his foot, I hum the coffin meme tune to myself. He's not that heavy anymore since chunks of his flesh pops like a bubble earlier. Scrapes form on his skin as I pull him.

With a heave and a ho, to the furnace he go. Don't forget the knife and the costume~

I just finished disposing my stuffs when my phone plays that special ringtone. Picking it up from the shoulder bag, I greet my precious Red Ribbon.

"Heya Giggles~ How are you?"

My expression shifts from bright to grim when I hear her weakly whispers that one word.

"Help…"

This was followed by a thunderous crash and a white noise. My heart sank deep into my guts. Running out, I only have one thing in mind – save her before it's too late.

I'm not really paying attention so I collided with someone riding a bike. As my butt hits the ground, I groan.

"Gah! What are you thinking running into me like that- Cuddles?"

Looking up, it's my best friend, Toothy. As he help me stand up, I quickly steal his ride.

"What in the-"

"Sorry Toots! Emergency, I'll return it later."

Huffing and puffing, I pedal like my life depends on it. Cars are beeping as I zoom by them. I've taken sharp turns and gave heart attacks to crossing pedestrians. I didn't even bother to stop when the traffic light is red. The only thing I care about right now is to get to the hospital as soon as possible.

Smoke is rising from the horizon. It didn't take long before the building came into my view. My heart skips a beat as I see its remnants. My blood runs cold as a thought of her crushed body appears in my head.

I am preventing the tears that is burning my eyes to fall. I hop off the bicycle and run closer. I keep telling myself that I'm not yet late.

Broken glasses are scattered around. Shattered walls are laying against each other. I found an opening and force myself to fit through it. As I successfully did, I start searching for any sign of her.

I am frantically shaking the doorknobs when I heard her voice screaming for help. It sounds faint, which means she's far from were I'm at, but at least I know her direction.

I crawl under a fallen pillar then run to a door I haven't check. As I press my head against it, I hear her whimpering. I started to charge myself against it, my new attempts stronger than the last one.

Hang in there, Giggles...

Out of nowhere, something crash which makes the earth trembles. I press my ears against the door again. She's not making any sound anymore.

This prompts me to try harder. Adrenaline is coursing through my veins as I imagined the worst possible scenario. The door slammed open with the force I've applied. I can't help but stumble forward a little bit after that. There she was, six feet from where I am. I could not believe my eyes for what I'm currently seeing.

The Golden Idol is laying on the floor, crushed into dust. The crying face of my love is kissing the guy I assume is responsible for the damage of the cursed figure. A sun ray, originating from a huge hole at the ceiling, illuminates the spot where the two are standing. Her hands are around his shoulder. Giggles withdraw and mouthed the words "Thank You" to Splendid.

My whole body is trembling in rage. When did we kissed like that? Oh right! When we're fucking dead. I clutch something from my shoulder bag. I coughed loudly, announcing my presence.

The two turn to my direction. She gasp. She's saying words but I could not understand them. A plain smile is painted on my face as I quickly walks towards them. I brush pass the girl who turns me crazy in love.

Splendid chuckles and spreads his arms, expecting a hug. That's exactly what I give him...with an extra stab on his chest with my kryptonut dagger.

He's lucky because I'm not gonna do what I have in mind for him. He kneels and screams as his body quickly degrades. I snap to Giggles with a huge smile on my face...

The grasses sway with the wind. The view of the sunset in this spot is truly romantic. I sigh as I look into her eyes.

"I'm so glad that you could understand me, Giggles. I've only done all of that because of you. Now, nobody would ever bother you and we can stay like this forever~"

I smile as I pat her head. Her wonderful scent wafts in the air as I caress her soft, pink fur. Oh how much I adore her cute face.

"I know you didn't expect me to forgive you after what you've done. That's just how much I love you. I will do anything and everything just to make you smile."

I touch the spot at the end of her lips and help her to smile. After all, she couldn't done that all by herself in this state. I smiled as I remember what she said to me this morning.

"Aren't you glad to have a boyfriend like me?"

♥~♥~♥~♥~♥

Since I turned Cuddles into a killer, does this story counts as a creepypasta?

Writing this is a doozy so I hope you like it the same way that I make it. Write your thoughts down the comments!