#if the tooth/my wisdom behind/against it need to be pulled i’d rather go to the fucking hospital

[maybeicanbesaved]

also! had an emergency dentist appt this morning bc i’ve been having such unbearable pain lately & was certain my tooth (that already had a root canal like a year ago) was reinfected bc the stupid filling came out, so i had assumed they would actually do something today??? my mistake i guess for thinking that bc all they did was a cleaning & xrays, and any work had to be scheduled for next time, and they can’t fit me in again until mid august :))))) so that’s fucking awesome thanks a lot

[hailing-stars]

@febuwhump day 20: betrayal  don’t say clown

summary

“You’d be dramatic too if you were about to get your teeth stolen and ripped from your mouth,” says Peter, shoving his phone in his pocket.

“Uh, ripped is not exactly what happens, and no I wouldn’t,” says Tony. “And I didn’t. As you constantly like to remind me, I’m a dinosaur. I’ve already had the privilege of having my wisdom teeth taken out.”

Peter huffs and digs his back further into the seat, as if he wants to disappear into it. “But do I really need to get it done today?”

“Do you want to be in pain when they start growing in?”

“No but-”

“Then yes.”

OR

Tony tricks Peter into actually attending his appointment to get his wisdom teeth removed, after him bailing several times. 

Tony feels a sharp pang of guilt as he turns the car into the parking lot of an oral surgeon’s office. Peter’s face is still buried in his phone, so he’s got a little time before the gremlin discovers his fate and tries pulling out the puppy dog eyes.

But it isn’t long enough.

He parks the car, and Peter jerks head up from his phone. His eyes go wide as he reads the letters printed across the giant, glass double doors. “This is betrayal, Mr. Stark. Betrayal of the highest order.”

“Dramatic, much?” asks Tony, shutting off the car.

“You’d be dramatic too if you were about to get your teeth ripped from your mouth and stolen,” says Peter, shoving his phone in his pocket.

“Uh, ripped is not exactly what happens, and no I wouldn’t,” says Tony. “And I didn’t. As you constantly like to remind me, I’m a dinosaur. I’ve already had the privilege of having my wisdom teeth taken out.”

Peter huffs and digs his back further into the seat, as if he wants to disappear into it. “But do I really need to get it done today?”

“Do you want to be in pain when they start growing in?”

“No but-”

“Then yes.”

“They probably don’t even have an aesthetic strong enough to put me under.”

“They don’t,” says Tony. “Which is why I rented out the office today and paid the Avengers medical staff to assist. They have the good stuff Brucie invented.”

“Okay, but I have school -”

“-May’s already told the school you’ll be out a couple days.”

“You guys are awful,” says Peter. He unbuckles his seatbelt, and Tony knows that means Peter’s out of his excuses and arguments. All he has left is whining and pouting. “You could’ve given me a heads up.”

“Sure,” says Tony. “And then you would have conveniently disappeared and missed your appointment, like the last three times.”

“I see your point,” says Peter. “But to be fair the last time was a real emergency. The lizard guy almost destroyed me and MJ’s favorite coffee place.”

“Why does every person who fights you have a ridiculous name?”

“I’m called Spider-Man. I’m kind of asking for something ridiculous.”

“That explains it,” says Tony, with a nod of his head. In full agreement.

The conversation stalls, and Peter looks truly miserable. Another pang of guilt ripples through Tony, though he knows it isn’t logical. It’s better for Peter to get this over with, rather than wait, but there’s something written across the boy’s face that gives him pause.

“Okay, let’s talk about it,” says Tony. “Why all the avoidance?”

“I dunno,” says Peter.

“Perfectly natural to be afraid -”starts Tony.

“-I’m not afraid,” says Peter. “I just don’t wanna be out of commission for days while I recover. It’s so boring.”

“You’ll likely be medicated so I don’t see you having enough coherency to be bored.”

“That’s worse,” mutters Peter.

“If it makes you feel any better,” says Tony. “You’ll probably be healed up and ready to hit the skies as Spider-Man by morning, with your healing factor.”

Relief washes across Peter’s face, but it’s there only seconds before it’s replaced by another perplexing frown. This time it’s better. This time Tony doesn’t have to pry to get his answers.

“...You’re gonna stay here?” asks Peter. “While I’m… out?”

“Yep,” says Tony. “Pepper made me bring a bunch of SI stuff I’ve been neglecting.”

Peter swallows. “And you’ll be there? When they knock me out?”

“Knocking you out is a harsh way to put it,” says Tony, with a frown. “But yeah, if you want me there.”

“It’s just - I dunno, what if I don’t wake up for another five years?” asks Peter. “And the world passes me by again?”

“I’d never let that happen,” he tells him immediately, and with confidence he doesn’t understand.

Tony’s seen enough tragedy in his lifetime to doubt he’d have control over a situation like that, but the words had come automatically, and they seem to smooth the worry creases on Peter’s face.

“Ready?” he asks him.

“Yeah,” sighes Peter. He grips the door handle and pops it open. “Let’s just get it over with.”

Tony follows through with his promise. He’s there when the medical staff inserts the needle into Peter’s arm. He holds his hand, tells him he’ll see him in a few hours, and watches as Peter’s scared, lost eyes slip shut.

His anxieties catch him by surprise. Seeing Peter lose consciousness like that brings him back to Titan, and although he allows staff to shuffle him out of the operation room, his fears beg him to stay, as if holding onto Peter's hand will keep him from dissolving back into dust.

*

Tony doesn’t concentrate on the work Pepper had given him.

His mind terrorizes him with illogical fears and his leg starts bouncing.

There isn’t a sturdy thought for his mind to dwell on, so it’s like his mind is swimming through varied traumatizing outcomes to Peter’s very common procedure. He’s like that the entire time they’re extracting the kid’s wisdom tooth, and he’s mentally berating himself about forcing Peter to go through with it.

And then the nurse pops her head out of the door. Tells him that it’s fine. That he should go on back to the operation room, because Peter’s about to wake up.

Tony holds his hand again, and Peter’s eyes flutter open. They’re dazed and confused, but still hold that soulful Peter Parker look inside them, so Tony breathes.

Something inside him snaps back into place. Something’s been corrected and healed.

“Hey, kid, you’re back,” he says. He squeezes his hand.

“‘Ony.”

“How’re you feeling?”

“I don’t like it,” says Peter.

He wrangles around in the dentist chair, and Tony puts a hand on his chest. It’s enough to stop him, at least while Tony takes instructions from the oral surgeon, and collects Peter’s super special painkillers.

“Okay, ready to go?”

Peter slowly nods his head, and Tony wraps an arm around his back, helping him to sit up without the help of the dentist chair. Tony helps him swing his legs over the stand of the chair, and does most of the work transferring him to a wheelchair provided by the staff.

It’s the same once they get outside and it’s time for Peter to leave the wheelchair and climb into the car.

Tony offers his arm, and Peter uses it as a guide and as a way of lifting himself from the chair. Tony doesn’t let him go, keeping his hands firmly locked on his arms until he’s sitting in the passenger’s side seat, looking every bit like the lost Golden Retriever puppy he’d once tried convincing Tony to home.

He takes the wheelchair back inside and quickly zips back to his vehicle, climbing into the driver’s seat.

“You left me,” Peter accuses, as Tony sits behind the wheel.

Tony starts the engine and switches the air on. “I wasn’t even gone a minute.”

“Felt like an eternityyyy,” says Peter. He lets his head rest against the window. “Don’t like feeling this floaty. Like I’m in IT and the clown’s got me.”

“Don’t say clown.”

“Clown,” says Peter, defiant even in his drugged state. “You’ll float too, Tony.”

“Okay, clearly it was a mistake to let you watch that movie.”

“Maybe they should’ve stolen Pennywise’s teeth,” says Peter. “Dentists could’ve ended that movie before it started.”

Tony laughs, and the smile’s still on his face while he watches Peter try and fail to insert the end of the seatbelt into the connector. After a couple more misses, Tony takes over and buckles him in.

“Can’t even stop making movie references when you’re dopey, you fiend.”

Peter lets out a noise that’s between a growl and a whine.

“Which is good,” says Tony. “We can watch lots of movies while your gums stitch themselves back together.”

“Yeeesssss,” says Peter. “I love movies.”

“I know, kid.”

“We gotta watch IT.”

“Okay, veto,” says Tony. Knowing the type of villains Spider-Man attracted, Tony’s convinced it isn’t long before his kid is facing off against a serial killing monster clown. He doesn’t want to tempt the fates. “How about something nicer-”

“Ohh, the one with the dinosaurs,” says Peter. “What’s it called…” He trailed off, lost in thought, and Tony imagines those drugs must be strong if the kid’s forgetting movie facts. “Jurassic Park!”

An image pops into his head of Peter fighting an actual dinosaur, and he begins to wonder if fatherhood was going to ruin movies for him. Damn kids.

“I want a red balloon,” says Peter, out of nowhere.

“Pete,” says Tony, with a breath. “Please move on from IT.”

“But I’m floaty.”

“How about a sit-com,” offers Tony. “Nothing bad ever happens in a sit-com.”

Tony wishes life were that way, that he could move his family inside of a bubble that he controlled and where nothing could touch them.

“Okay,” he agrees. “As long as I can still have a balloon. I went to the dentist. I deserve a balloon.”

“Fine, but it’s not going to be red,” says Tony. He lets himself be consumed by hatred for this fictional clown for stealing his signature color.

He pulls the car out of the parking lot, and just before he turns onto the street and joins traffic, he notices Peter’s eyes fluttering closed.

“Tony,” says Peter, voice quiet and dazed. “Thanks for being here, you know, when I came back.”

He doesn’t know whether Peter means after his surgery, or after he was stitched back together from dust. He decides he must mean both.

“Of course, Pete,” says Tony. “Thanks for coming back.”

Peter flashes him a grin, before nodding off, and warmth fills Tony’s chest. So live isn’t a sit-com, but in that moment, everything was great and for now, it’s enough.

[losingmymindtonight]

Trope: Sleepy

There were a lot of perks that came with being a billionaire, but the ones Tony Stark ended up appreciating the most were nearly always the things other people wouldn’t even consider.

Sure, he liked being able to leave large tips on small checks. He liked being able to buy clothes without checking the price tag. He liked knowing that no matter what college Peter chose, the tuition wouldn’t be an issue.

But the thing that he was grateful for now was the fact that since the MedBay was his, and because he employed everyone in it, he got a lot more leeway that he would’ve in a general hospital.

For one, he’d been able to hire the best pediatric dental surgeon in the country to do Peter’s wisdom teeth surgery. He’d also been able to demand that Helen Cho worked beside him. She was partly there to advise him on Peter’s enhancements, and partly there because there were very few people Tony trusted with Peter’s safety, and she was one of them.

He was also allowed to stay right beside Peter as they prepped him for the surgery, and had Helen’s distinct promise that she’d fetch him the second they were done. He could’ve stayed for the whole procedure, even, but Peter had scrunched up his face at the suggestion, murmured a lazy ew, and made Helen promise to kick Tony out before they started.

Now, though, as Cho and the anesthesiologist bustled around his hospital bed, Tony could see that the kid was shamelessly grateful for his steady presence at his side.

“Are you even sure I need the IV?” Peter asked, eyes darting between the elastic tourniquet the anesthesiologist was fastening around his bicep and the needle on the tray beside her. “Can’t you just, I don’t know, wack me over the head?”

Tony snorted. “You’ve got a thick head, kid. Wouldn’t work.”

Cho joined in his amusement, patting Peter’s other arm gently. “It’ll be alright, Peter. I even brought out the numbing cream we usually use with little kids. You don’t feel a thing.”

Peter cringed away when he saw the anesthesiologist prep the needle, and Tony gently tipped his chin up and away, forcing the kid’s gaze onto his face rather than the imminent poke to the back of his hand.

“Why is it,” Peter murmured, “that the older we get, the more pain people think we’re cool to tolerate? Like, shouldn’t everyone get the numbing cream? Is suffering, like, a right of passage or something? I don’t get it.”

“Hm.” Tony entertained the rambling partly because he adored the kid, and partly because it was a fantastic distraction. “You make a solid argument, squirt. Maybe you should grow up and be a doctor like Cho, here.”

“Technically, Tony, I’m a geneticist.”

“You’re also a doctor.”

“In my spare time.”

Peter gave her a lopsided smile, Tony’s hand still pressed against the side of his face. “Well, I think you’re a great doctor.”

Cho smiled back. “That’s just because I stitch you back together again after you’ve done doing something foolhardy.”

“Isn’t that a valid reason?”

“All done!” The anesthesiologist declared, taping down the kid’s cannula. “Everyone ready to get started?”

Peter started twitching nervously. Even when Tony let go of his chin, his eyes stayed locked on his face. “I, uh, this is gonna suck, right?”

“No,” he reassured, keeping his voice calm despite his own nervousness. “You heal quickly, and I made opioids that work on you for a reason. You’ll be fine.”

“It’s a very easy procedure, son.” Tony bristled at the way the dental surgeon (Doctor Rhine, maybe? He hadn’t really been paying much attention during the introductions) addressed the kid, despite knowing that it was all done in kindness. “And you won’t remember a bit of it.”

Tony shifted a little, trying to relieve some of the stress on his back from perching awkwardly on the edge of the kid’s bed. Peter’s IV-free hand shot out and latched around his wrist.

“Wait, don’t go,” he was blushing, but didn’t let go, “not, uh, not yet. Please?”

“Easy, I’m not leaving until you’re too drugged to notice.” He patted the kid’s shoulder gently. “We talked about this, remember?”

Slowly, Peter’s grip eased. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“Hey, no apologies. Just relax.”

“Alright,” Cho gave the anesthesiologist a quick nod, “you ready, Tony?”

“Mhm.” He cupped the side of Peter’s neck, firm and steadying. Part of him wanted to crack a joke about filming the kid and uploading it to YouTube later, but he held back. He knew the kid was nervous about the whole thing, and he doubted it’d help. Instead, he just swiped a thumb over his cheek and smiled encouragingly. “Hey, what’d you do on patrol last night?”

“Um, I stopped a robbery on 77th. Then I helped out with a fender bender a few blocks down. On 150th, I think? ‘N then I went to, uh, to, uh... to Delmar’s.” Peter blinked rapidly. “Whoa.”

“Strong, isn’t it?” Cho touched the small of Tony’s back, out of view of Peter. A barely-there reassurance.

“Yeah. Whoa.” The kid’s eyes wandered up to meet his. “Mis’er Stark?”

“Hey, buddy. You’re alright, just let the drugs to their thing.”

He brushed his fingers through the kid’s bangs softly as he dozed off, heart warming at the fact that he never once looked away from Tony’s face, even as his gaze got glassy and unfocused.

“You can go now, Tony.” Cho patted his arm. “He won’t remember any of this.”

“Yeah, of course.” He made sure Peter’s head wouldn’t roll uncomfortably when he relinquished his hold on his face, then rubbed his cheek to catch his admittedly drowsy attention. “Hey, kid. I’m gonna let them do their thing. You alright if I go for a bit? I’ll be right back as soon as they’re done. You won’t even notice I left.”

Peter just let his eyelids droop shut. “M’kay.”

“Good boy.” He didn’t know why the kid’s easy acceptance of him leaving made him feel just the tiniest hint of rejection. After all, the whole point of the drugs were to chill him out. Tony had helped design them with that in mind. But... still. A part of him wanted the kid to ask him to stay. “I’ll see you in a bit, alright?”

He didn’t get a response. Peter's eyes were closed, breaths deep and slow.

“He’ll probably just nap now.” Cho pulled him away and pushed him towards the door. “Go on, Tony. The sooner we can start, the sooner you can help him wake up.”

Back in the waiting room, he found himself envying the kid the drugs. He’d have given just about anything to get to check out during the hour and a bit he spent loitering in the halls. He drank three cups of coffee, ate a bagel, counted every ceiling and floor tile in sight. All the while, he had to force himself to studiously ignore the fact that just a few rooms away, someone was pulling his kid’s teeth out of his skull.

And, okay, logically he knew he was being a drama queen. Peter was fine. Wisdom teeth extractions were, like, the most mundane procedure of all time. Nearly everyone had it. Hell, he had had it, far enough back that Jarvis, the human Jarvis, had been the one taking care of him in the aftermath. He knew that his parents must’ve been alive, but they hadn’t been there. He remembered that, even through the haze of painkillers.

Peter wouldn’t experience that, at least. He’d come back to himself with Tony at his side, and it would only be a few hours before May arrived. Peter had adamantly declared that he’d rather have her see him once he was fully conscious and recovered, and nobody had argued with him.

Tony felt a little touched that the kid had been fine with him seeing him drugged off his ass. Then again, they’d been through this kind of thing before, with countless broken bones and gushing lacerations, courtesy of reckless patrols.

The doors to Peter’s room opened, and Cho and the dental surgeon walked out. Cho was already giving him a thumbs up before she’d fully emerged, aware of his tendency to work himself up during waits.

Bless her.

“All good, Tony.” She smiled, coming to a stop in front of him. “Textbook surgery, not a single complication. Two of them were impacted, which we already knew, but they weren’t difficult to remove once we got in there. He was perfect, too. A real trooper.”

“So he’s alright?” He felt a little ridiculous for needing the extra reassurance, but not ridiculous enough to avoid asking. “You’re sure?”

Doctor Rhine (Tony decided he was sticking with it) glanced at Cho briefly before nodding. “As Doctor Cho said before, Mister Stark, he’s perfectly alright. A little out of it, but nothing you wouldn’t expect after a wisdom tooth extraction.”

“He slept through most of it, which is what I was hoping for,” Cho added. “He woke up a little near the end, when we were inserting the gauze.” She grinned. “He asked for you.”

His heart clenched. “Was he upset I left?”

“No, no. He wasn’t distressed. He just asked where you went, and then said he wanted you to come back.” She nodded behind her, in the general direction of the kid’s room. “And on that note: you’re welcome to go grant him his wish. Just because we’re not sure how his system is going to react to the painkillers you synthesized, I’d like to keep him in there for his first dose. As long as he doesn’t have a reaction to that, we’ll just wait until he’s awake enough to head up to the penthouse. There’s a nurse in with him now, but you’re welcome to take over.”

The idea of Peter asking for him soothed the piece of him that was still chafing over the kid’s easy acceptance of him leaving earlier.

“Yeah, right.” He made a beeline for Peter’s door, barely pausing to turn back. “Thanks, Helen. Thanks, Rhine.”

He hoped he got the man’s name right.

If not, whoops.

The kid was exactly where he’d left him, although someone had removed most of the monitors and other equipment. The IV was still in the back of his hand, probably for easy administration of pain meds later, but nothing was attached to it. He looked asleep, face peaceful and eyelashes brushing his cheeks. A curly-haired nurse was standing at the kid’s shoulder, talking to him gently. She looked up when Tony stepped in, smiling.

“Hey, sweetheart, look. Dad’s here. See? I told you he was on his way.”

He thought about correcting her, then didn’t bother. He kept most of the details about Peter confidential, even from the medical staff, but he knew that they extrapolated, made assumptions. He didn’t even blame them. It was just human nature.

It would take to long to explain the truth at this point. And right now, he just wanted his kid.

“Hey, Pete.” He kept his voice hushed, setting his palm over the kid’s forehead in greeting. “How’re you feeling?”

Peter’s head lolled slightly in his direct, lazy smile forming around the cotton in his mouth even as his eyes stayed shut. “Mis’er S’rk.”

“That’s me.” He glanced up to the nurse, who was watching him with a knowing smile. “How’s he doing?”

“Perfectly.” She matched his quiet volume, and he made a mental note to give her a raise. “He’s been waking up a little these past few minutes. He tried to sit up a few times, which went about as well as you can imagine. He should settle down now that you’re here, though. Most kids do once their parents are in the room.”

Peter opened and closed his mouth around the gauze lazily, eyes cracking open just a sliver. “Di’ you leave me?”

Tony forced himself not to flinch. Man, this kid really knew his soft spot.

“Just for a bit, squirt.” He used his sleeve to wipe a bit of drool off of Peter’s chin, careful not to jostle his jaw. “They had to do the surgery. I was right outside, though.”

Peter’s face scrunched up in thought. “I… I don’ remember that.”

“Good.” It was good, too. He’d been having nightmares about the kid remembering the surgery for weeks. Sure, it wasn’t the same as having a metal reactor screwed into your chest, but Tony’s brain didn’t make the distinction. “You’re not supposed to.”

“W’s I sleepin’?”

“Kinda, yeah.”

Peter hummed in response, turning his face into the palm Tony pressed against his cheek.

The nurse nudged his arm to catch his attention. Man, he’d forgotten she was even there.

“I’ll step out, now. Doctor Cho’ll be back in a bit to check on him and see if he’s ready for some pain relief. Don’t be concerned if he falls back asleep, that’s very normal. Most kids are happy to nap once they realize that they’re with someone they trust.” She paused. “If you need to leave to do anything else, just hit the call button and I can sit with him for you.”

“No, I’ll stay. But thank you.”

“Of course.”

Once they were alone, he hopped up onto the bed, tapping Peter’s ear until he recognized the change of positions and started a series of clumsy attempts at octopusing his way into Tony’s arms. He helped him along, eventually settling the kid against his chest. He rubbed soothing circles over Peter’s back as he grew loose and heavy against him.

He was glad that the bed had already been raised into a semi-reclining position, because he wouldn’t have been able to fumble with the controls and also keep cradling his armful of limp teenager. After a little shifting, he found himself decently comfortable, and settled in for the long haul.

Cho came in about a half an hour later, took one look at his position, and started laughing quietly into her sleeve.

“Yeah, yeah,” he massaged the back of Peter’s neck as an apology for the noise, although the kid slept on, oblivious, “we’re very cute. Just take the picture for blackmail and move on.”

“I would never.” To be fair, he believed her. “Has he been sleeping since you came in?”

“He was awake at first, but then he conked right out on me. Nurse said that was normal.”

“It is. He’s still got the sedation in his system, and his body is probably trying to heal.” She moved to their bedside, checked Peter’s pulse on his wrist. “Do you think you could get him to wake up for me? I want to see how coherent he is, and ask if he’s in any pain.”

“Yeah, sure.” He shook Peter’s shoulder. “Hey, Pete. Wake up, buddy.”

“Hm.” The kid’s brow furrowed in displeasure. “Don’ wanna.”

He laughed. “Yeah, I know. Just for a bit though, squirt. Cho wants to talk to you.”

“Hey there, Peter.” Cho bent to look at his face. “How are you feeling?”

The kid dragged his eyelids open, blinking rapidly to try to orient himself. “Tired.”

“Are you in any pain?”

“Hm. Yeah. Ow.” Peter fumbled up a hand to poke at his cheek, but Tony caught it before he could. “Ow. M’ face hurts.”

Tony’s gaze snapped to Cho, and she was waving off his concern before he could even voice it. “Relax, Tony. The sedation is pretty limited in the analgesic department, and I guessed he’d go through the lidocaine quickly.” She held up a syringe. “I came prepared.”

He let out a genuine sigh of relief. There was nothing he hated more than Peter in pain. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” She injected the painkillers into Peter’s IV port. “The pain should be better in a second, Peter. You just keep cuddling with Tony.”

“Oi,” he glared, “we’re not cuddling.”

“Looks like cuddling to me.”

“Well, it isn’t.”

“What is it, then?”

“It’s... physical reassurance.”

“It’s cuddling.”

“Shut up.”

She laughed, turning her attention back to the kid. “Do you feel better now, Peter?”

“Mhm. Does Mis’er Stark have t’ leave now?”

“No, buddy,” Tony rubbed his back, “Mister Stark’s staying right here.”

“F’r the surgery?”

“You already had the surgery, kiddie. You’re all done.”

“Oh. Di’ I do good?”

“So good. A model patient, I hear.”

Cho walked towards the door with a smile on her lips, waving goodbye before slipping out silently.

“Mis’er Stark?” 

Peter blinked up at him heavily, little grin on his face. Some of the gauze had come loose, and Tony pushed it back into place carefully. Once he was done, he smoothed a few curls away from the kid’s forehead, soft grin coming unbidden. “Yes, Mister Parker?”

“D’you... D’you know h’w much I love you?”

His heart stilled. No, seriously, he swore he could feel it falter.

“No, bud.” The words felt numb in his mouth. “I... I guess I don’t.”

Do you love me? He thought. Do you really? Do I even deserve that?

“I... I love you... uh...” He watched Peter struggle for a unit that made sense, and some of his shock was swept away by the wildfire of his own love raging through every inch of his chest. “I love you ‘s far ‘s I c’n reach.”

There were times when Tony was struck by how young Peter was, how much the kid was still very much immersed in childhood, even if he liked to play at being an adult. This was one of those times, and it hit him out of nowhere with the full force of a speeding train.

He hugged him closer, voice rough. “I’m taller than you, kid. I can reach higher.”

“‘S not a... a compe-competi-comp’tition.”

Tony physically held back the laugh that rose at Peter’s absolute butchering of competition. “Of course it’s not,” he soothed.

Peter seemed to ignore his own declaration, trying at another clumsy metaphor before Tony could even finish. “I-I love you ‘s high ‘s Spider-Man c’n climb, Mis’er Stark. ‘S... ‘S really high, y’know.”

Peter’s head slipped forward a little as he spoke, so Tony gently repositioned him so it was resting on his collarbone and brushed the bangs out of the kid’s face. “The suit can go to space, kiddo. Got you there again.”

If he was being honest, he’d expected the kid to have lost his train of thought long before now, but he was determined, it seemed. “I love you to... to...” He blinked slowly. “Love you to... Antarctica. ‘N the North Pole.”

“The South Pole’s in Antarctica, kid.” The whole conversation was ridiculous, and it was making him feel gushy and gross, but in a way that was actually kind of nice. “Santa’s on the other side of the world.”

“‘S... ‘S not.”

He smirked at the kid’s drowsy stubbornness. “Australia’s farther than Antarctica. So I win once again.”

Peter twisted himself so he could slide further down Tony’s chest and gaze up at his face. He rushed to support him.

The kid shot him a dopey grin. “‘M gonna win. I got one.”

Tony ran a finger over his temple, right along the hairline. “Oh?”

“Mhm.” Peter’s eyes closed, then opened. His stubborn determination to finish their little game seemed to be just about the only thing keeping him conscious. “I love you t’ the Kuiper Belt ‘n back.”

If this went on for any longer, Tony was going to end up crying.

“Well,” he swallowed back a wave of emotion, “that is a really long way, huh?”

“Mhm. I win. D’... D’d I win?”

Tony dropped his voice to a whisper, smiled softly. Screw his reputation. It’s not like anyone could see this, anyway. “Yeah, buddy. You won.”

Peter seemed contented by the words, and Tony waited for the kid to relax against him before dropping his forehead against the crown of his head and letting the final layers of his armor shed, leaving him exposed and vulnerable and frighteningly adoring.

“You know, kiddo,” he breathed slowly, fully aware that this was the cheesiest thing he’d ever done and not caring in the slightest, “I love you to the edge of the universe and back. And just for reference, there is no end of the universe.” He shifted his precious bundle closer to his chest. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anybody.”

Peter stretched, fingers tangling in the hem of his shirt and voice barely audible. “Mm. M’kay. You win.”

He’d expected to be more horrified that the kid had heard him. Instead, he felt a deep sense of satisfaction, like he’d just fulfilled an innate need without even recognizing it. 

“You know,” he whispered, “I hope you remember this.”

“‘Course I will,” Peter mumbled back, “‘M... ‘M Spider-Man. Spider-Man ‘members important stuff.”

He chuckled. “Yeah? Well, good. ‘Cause this is very important.”

And so are you, he thought, smiling like the world was in his arms.

(And, in a way, it was.)

[geethedentist]

The Sassenach Warrior

Catch up on Chapter 6 here!

Chapter 7: Ring Heist Renewed

“Care to explain, lass?” Murtagh asked the question before I could bolt after Jamie and the others, thus avoiding the ensuing conversation that I now knew to be inevitable. But he sounded matter of fact, not accusatory. He even seemed a bit curious. I turned to face him, hand nervously clenching the wanted poster in my pocket. I still had no idea what the charges were. Hopefully it only mentioned my most recent encounter with the redcoats.

“Does Jamie ken?” He tried for an easier question. 

“I … he … not all of it.” I glanced helplessly at the door to the inn Jamie and others had just gone through and took several steps backward.

“And I suppose those two wee fools ken nothing of it.” He said, referring to Rupert and Angus.

My hand clenched and unclenched rhythmically around the poster. The sound of crumpling paper drifted from my pocket before I replied. “What was your first guess?” 

He chuckled. “Well for one, I have never seen such a petrified look on yer face before.” 

“Well that’s because there is not much out there to petrify me.” 

“But this does.” 

I let out a long sigh. “Myself and the British government have been . . . at odds for some time.” 

“As cryptic as ever, Claire.” Murtagh stated. He didn’t need me to beg for secrecy with such a shameful, pleading look on my face. “Is that why ye’re so desperate to leave then?” 

I imagined Jamie telling his uncle of all the unsuccessful scheming I had done to recover my ring and be on my way. “Ye can leave and keep running, I ken how badly ye want to.”

“It isn’t safe for me here.” I told him the lie I kept telling myself, and he saw right through it. 

“Not safe? We brought ye to one of the most fortified castles in the Highlands. Ye’re surrounded by kindhearted and protective Scottish warriors, many of whom have grown quite fond of ye.” 

“I still feel like a captive rather than a guest.” I answered quietly. 

Murtaugh grunted. “Well I’ve said my piece, ’tis yer choice what ye do with it.” He started toward the door. 

“Wait!” I called after him. It felt silly to use my usual method and threaten a kick in the balls to ensure his silence. He demanded much more respect with his quiet demeanor and wisdom, and he was very important to Jamie. 

He rolled his eyes in mock annoyance. “I wilna tell anyone lass.” 

Jamie was giving me a concerned look when we reached the door. I smiled briefly to assure everything was okay, and he relaxed. There was a man standing inside the doorway holding a lantern. He scrutinized us until he saw Rupert and Angus, and he grinned broadly. 

“Back again are ye? Who d’ye have here?” He asked, clapping Rupert on the shoulder. 

“Aye, we’ve brought some kinsmen. Dinna worry they wilna blow yer cover.” Rupert responded. 

“Pardon me if this seems like a foolish question,” I began as we descended a narrow staircase single file. “But is there some sort of illegal activity taking place here?” I had half-expected to walk in on some sort of orgy at the bottom of the stairs. 

“Will you two dolts just tell us where we’re going?” Murtagh piped up from behind me. 

“Ye canna just wait two more seconds?” Angus called back. 

There was a door at the bottom of the stairs with a warm light peeking out the bottom. From beyond I heard cheerful music and many voices. Rupert pushed the door open and we entered what looked like a basement turned taproom. There was a bar and tables with patrons. I blinked in confusion. 

“You … you made us walk all the way over here to sit in a nearly identical taproom?” I folded my arms and regarded Rupert and Angus. Behind me, Murtagh suppressed a laugh.

“It isna just a taproom!” Angus said. 

“Oh my apologies, ‘secret taproom’.” I stretched and started for the bar. “Well as long as we’re here, I’m going to have a drink, or three.” I said, hoping this would aid me in forgetting about the incriminating paper in my pocket and stop me from wondering if I’d ever be able to show my face in public again.

“Sassenach.” Jamie tapped my shoulder. “I think that’s why they brought ye here.” He inclined his head toward the far end of the room, where the most people were gathered. There was a sea of bodies in my way, and I still saw nothing while Jamie easily towered over almost everyone. Determined to make something of this night, I shouldered my way through the crowd ignoring the comments and side glances. I reached an opening in the crowd and my jaw promptly hit the floor. 

“Look at her face!” Rupert said gleefully. “I kent she’d love this!” He looked infuriatingly pleased with himself. 

A large ring had been constructed out of wood in the middle of the floor. The walls rose about four feet high, and they were stained with blood. Some spots were old and faded, others clearly fresh. Suddenly a man was thrown headfirst into said bloodstained wall, adding to the collection. There was a gash in his forehead. He wore no shirt and he was glistening in sweat and breathing hard. His opponent loomed over him. There was blood running down the other man’s neck from some unidentifiable wound, deep in his long brown hair. He was missing a tooth. He reared up and drove his knee into the fallen man’s nose, the force sending him colliding with the wall once again. Thunderous cheering accompanied this clear victory, and I couldn’t help but join in. 

Jumping up and down, I grabbed Jamie’s sleeve. “Do you know what this is?!” 

“Aye, it looks like a fighting ring.” And then he smiled down at me, my excitement infectious. “Somebody owes Rupert and Angus a thank you.” 

I shrugged. “There is a degree of difficulty in dealing with me, but I’m easy to please.” 

Our attention was brought back to the middle of the ring when another man stepped out dressed in clean cut breeches and a vest. He reached the winner, grasped his wrist, and thrust his arm up into the air. 

“Your winner!” He boomed. The declaration was met by more applause and cheers.  He then pulled out a pouched stuffed with coin and handed it to the victor. 

Somebody emitted a drawn out groan next to me. “That’s the last time I put my money on Campbell.”

Preparations began to be made for the next fight. The loser was hauled off to see if something couldn’t be done about his broken nose and forehead laceration, and blood was being scrubbed off the walls and floor. I led Jamie over to a table where the others were seated. Both Rupert and Angus had large smiles plastered on their faces. I crossed my arms. 

“Before you say anything, I will give credit where credit is due.” 

An ale that I didn’t even know I wanted was pressed into my hand by Jamie as I climbed onto the stool. 

Angus was nodding smugly. “Weel our Claire is always attracted to violence is she no’? 

Jamie chuckled. “Aye, violence and danger.” 

Murtagh gave a Scottish grunt of agreement from the corner and met my eyes briefly. I swallowed, remembering the paper I harbored. Yes, violence and danger were quite exhilarating until finding your face on a poster dampens the mood. Before I knew it the ale was finished. 

The conversation was in danger of departing from harmless observations about my personality and entering dangerous territory. 

“So . . . a dark, unassuming inn under which is hiding a covert brawling competition.” The fighting of course supplied the danger and violence I always preferred to be immersed in, but the clandestine nature of the whole thing was the real reason that anyone with sense shouldn’t want anything to do with it. 

“And allow me to venture a guess,” I continued. “The English have had some objection, forcing it underground.” 

A common theme here seemed to be that the Scots enjoy their tests of strength and courage, especially against each other. I thought of the sword play back in the smaller village. It was yet another unique aspect of their way of life. 

Angus shifted uneasily. “Aye, Gavin told us the whole story.” He inclined his head toward the neatly dressed man in the center of the ring directing the clean up. “He’s the one who runs it.” 

Rupert picked up the story. “A couple of weeks ago Her Majesty’s Eighth Dragoons came through the town, and the captain had somethin’ to say about all this.” He made a sweeping motion with his arm. 

At the mention of the redcoats occupying the town I went rigid, my hand reflexively clutched the paper inside my pocket, now realizing why it had been hanging up in the first place. Jamie had stiffened simultaneously next to me and he swore in Gaelic. 

“The Eighth Dragoons. That’s under Randall’s command.” He said the name with difficulty, almost forcing it out. “How good to know he’s still terrorizing these people.” 

Murtagh tugged at his beard. “Ye havena seen Randall since …” 

“No.” Jamie answered softly. 

Murtagh did not need to finish that sentence for anybody present. Jamie had not seen the English captain since he had flayed open his back and made known his physical desire for the nineteen year old boy. 

“I expect that nothing illegal was going on and Randall did this because he can.” Jamie’s fist was clenching and unclenching at his side. I saw it. From his words, Black Jack Randall took an even more definite shape in my mind: a haughty man who takes advantage of his rank, but harbors fiendish and perverted tendencies apparent in the fact that he enjoys watching people suffer. Although at that point, I had no idea how sadistic he truly was. 

“Exactly, because Randall’s a bastard.” Angus said. “He called this barbaric. Gavin used to run the entire inn upstairs and when he refused to close the ring, Randall and company shut the inn down.”

“Sounds about right.” Said Murtagh. 

“Anyway,” Rupert continued, “the whole business has gotten Gavin a bit nervous, so he’s only opened the ring a few nights a week.” 

“Perhaps Randall and the English felt threatened by all the revenue this seems to generate for the people of this town.” I put in helpfully.

“Oh aye,” Angus answered, “But only if ye bet on the right fighter. I lost a hell of a lot o’ coin last night.” 

“You did?” Rupert punched him in the shoulder. “Ye borrowed half of it from me!” 

While Rupert and Angus entered a full blown argument, I glanced over to Jamie. He had his chin in his hands and he was staring very intently at the floor. He had shut down for the night. I imagined he was not happy to hear that Randall was still at large. How could a man like that come to justice? 

__________________________________________________________________

By the next evening, I was still silently thanking Rupert and Angus for bringing me to Gavin’s ring. After sharing a glass of whisky with Jamie and Murtagh, I made a show of yawning repeatedly and excused myself for bed. I stood in front of the washstand and pulled the pockets of my breeches inside out. A couple granules of lint floated to the floor. These pockets will be empty no longer. But as per my plan, most of it would be going to Dougal and his preposterous Jacobite army fund. I stuffed the pockets back in, honestly struggling to remember the last time I had held any type of currency. I had consistent meals and now a bed to sleep in, but it did not change the fact I was still destitute. Dependent. Still a prisoner. 

I paced the room, my steps bouncing slightly with nervous energy. My life seemed to be directed by impulsive, often stupid decisions. Tonight would be no different. As I waited for the voices to die down indicating that the others had gone to bed, I couldn’t help but to somehow arrive at the conclusion that Jamie rarely slept well, if much at all. 

After another twenty or so minutes and a strong pull of the whisky I had snuck upstairs, heavy booted footsteps were making their way up the stairs and past my door. Swinging the cloak over my shoulders, my nails caught on the rough fabric. I had chewed them all the way down, and now the ends were jagged. Shifting my weight carefully, I moved slowly and tried not to make the old floors creak. After what felt like forever, I reached the stairs and grasped the railing. Gingerly, I tip-toed down the stairs one by one, my face screwing up at every infinitesimal sound I made. 

It felt ridiculous and childish. I suppose I was sneaking out for any one of the various, irrational reasons I had created. Perhaps I was not up to the task of dealing with Dougal if he caught me. I shuddered. Any one of them could catch me and assume I was on some espionage mission for the British. Conclusions would be jumped to, and Dougal would smugly fold his arms and say that he knew all along that I was helping the enemy. I reached the bottom and let out the long breath I was holding. 

Glancing back up, a soft flickering light shone around the edges of a closed door. I dimly wondered whose room it was and admitted that another reason for the tip-toeing was to spare Jamie of the knowledge that I was actively trying to leave. Then and there, I resolved to escape without anybody’s knowledge once I had my ring back. Yes, I would make my triumphant escape by cover of night guilt free with no awkward goodbyes, and in the morning after some initial confusion I will be nothing but a strange memory to them. 

I was still fixated on the door that could have been Rupert’s for all I knew and hadn’t realized that while gazing stupidly and open-mouthed up the stairs I was slowly walking backward. The arm of the chair at the nearest table had gotten caught inside the enormous sleeve of my borrowed cloak. The chair was already halfway to the floor before the high pitched whispers of profanity made it out of my mouth. I covered my face with both of my hands during the inevitable crash as if that would do any good. Peeking through my fingers, I saw the light under the door move. Someone had picked up a candle. After clumsily setting the chair upright I dashed out the door clutching the hood so that I remained concealed. 

The night air was chilly and I gave a hollow laugh to myself upon realizing that I was about to go somewhere all alone, no Scotsmen included. The night was still. It had to be after midnight. Since the previous evening I had been on the lookout for more posters with my face on them. I thankfully found no more, surmising that the first place I saw it must have been the town’s main bulletin. 

Faint laugher floated across the side alley of the inn as I approached. There was the unmistakable sound of a glass splintering on the floor and the laughter escalated. The same man was at the door, holding the lantern. I tried nonchalantly to remove my hood, but it had gotten caught on my hair. The man watched me struggle for several seconds before I had tied the hair back into a knot and causally leaned against the wall. 

“Busy tonight?” I asked him. 

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Aye. Ye were here last night?” There was suspicion in his voice upon hearing my accent. As of late I wished I was able to speak differently. I once attempted a Scottish accent and it had sent Jamie into a uncontrollable fit of laughter. 

“I was. Rupert and Angus are friends of mine.” 

His expression softened and he let me enter. The voices got louder as I descended. The large room was once again bustling with activity. I scanned the crowd in search of Gavin when a familiar face materialized in front of me. It was the freckled young man from the tavern earlier in the week who seemed to have the utmost faith in Dougal Mackenzie. He was holding a small notebook. 

“We meet again, Miss …” He trailed off, waiting for me to supply my name. 

“Claire. Remind me again of yours.” 

“Peter.” He smoothed his hair with one hand; it had a greasy sheen to it.

“Oh yes, the man who gave his coin to support some Bonnie Prince who is off God knows where. And now you’re here, gambling it away.” It sounded quite strange as I said it. I supposed he was around my age, but the freckles made him look like a boy.

He laughed. “Gambling’s no’ such a bad thing, provided you win.” 

“I intend to.” I told him, starting to walk away to let him figure out what I meant. He didn’t get the hint, reappearing at my left shoulder like a fly. 

“May I buy you a drink?” 

“No thank you.” I kept walking. He plainly intended to keep this conversation going. 

“Tell me,” Peter continued, paying no heed to the fact that he was about to address his next question to my back. “Have you been here before?” 

“Just once.” 

“I see. The atmosphere is quite invigorating, but I can’t help but feel only a handful of people know about it.” 

“Well, yes.” I turned to face him. “It has been like this since the last time the soldiers came through. The English shut down this entire inn because they did not like the presence of the fighting ring for whatever reason. Perhaps because the Scots found a way to make money through a means that they couldn’t put another one of their bloody taxes on. Or perhaps because it gave them some way to enjoy life since the English barged into the Highlands. Your guess is as good as mine.” It appeared as though I had gone on a small rant. 

He smirked. “You sound like your Mackenzie friend.” If that was meant to provoke me, it worked, damn him. 

“I - no. No.” I gave a flustered laugh and held up a finger. “Listen. Do you see me trying to raise an army?” His mouth opened to answer but I kept going. “That man is holding me against my will on the basis of a ridiculous assumption that he cannot prove. Furthermore, if you approach any single person in this room right now, they will share a similar sentiment concerning the English.” 

He blinked, evidently becoming more fascinated by the second. A clear indication that I have shared way too much information with a total stranger. “You’re his prisoner?” 

I groaned. “Goodnight Peter. Good luck to whomever you bet on.” 

He bowed. “Goodnight then, Mistress Claire. Perhaps I’ll see you again down here.” 

I had finally located Gavin standing in a doorway towards the back of the room, next to the bar. I cast a look back at Peter. He was seated alone at a table scribbling furiously in the notebook. 

Gavin was directing people who wanted to place their bets; he didn’t turn his head as I approached. 

“Good evening to ye, sir.” He said, tying off a small coin pouch. 

“Good evening, and I’m not a sir.” I was about to enjoy his subsequent reaction. 

He turned, and didn’t seem too surprised. “Well of course not lass, forgive me. Yer clothing had me mistaken out ‘o the corner of my eye.” 

I tilted my head to the side and got the feeling that he was almost expecting me. 

“So where are those two dolts tonight eh?” He continued; I presumed he was talking about Rupert and Angus. 

“I - They’re … asleep.” I said lamely, after much too long of a pause. There was no need to explain to him why I was here in secret when I could barely explain it to myself. 

He extended his hand then. “Ye must be Claire.” 

“So you must have heard all about me.” Wonderful. 

“Aye, and I kent ye’d be back so I could meet ye! Never met a lass here for the fight.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “All the ladies who come here dinna care a lick for it. They come with their husbands and gossip all night long.” 

I followed his eyes a small group of women seated in one of the booths along the wall. Clearly whispering about something (me), there was absolutely nothing subtle whatsoever in the way that they all simultaneously averted their eyes to the tabletop. Giggling soon ensued. 

“Who will ye be bettin’ on tonight then Claire?” Gavin asked. “Fletcher’s been doing bonny this month.” 

Betting? Boy was Gavin about to see how much the fighting really interested me. I smiled sweetly. “I fear there has been a misunderstanding. I will not be placing a bet tonight.” 

Disappointment followed by confusion crossed his features. “Oh? Why not?” 

 I folded my arms. “Well for one, I haven’t got any money. Not one little penny to my name. It seems finding work as a soldier is quite unattainable for someone like me.”

He reddened slightly. “I’m sorry lass, I didna mean to assume the state of yer funds … I …” 

I held up a hand. “It’s quite all right.” A pause to prepare him. 

“I’m here to fight.”

[ao3-hipster-fangirl-trash]

For the carry on ask thing I really just want to say all of them😂. Or if that takes too long the ones you really want to answer😊 Sunglasses dude just because he's cooler than me

Banshee: What’s something you love so much that you just really want to run around and scream about?

Probably my best friend @thehatwhisperer caus she’s an awesome ‘mythic bitch’ who absolutely supports me through anything, like i can call her about the stupidest things crying and she will always help and console me and make me feel better about myself, no matter what time of day it is and it makes me feel so amazing.

Bonety Hunter: What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever had to ‘hunt’ down in the store?

I once had to hunt down two giant boards of wood, three cans of white spray paint, a spool of wool and 600 nails for an art project, the poor cashier looked terrified caus these planks were like, A1 size, that’s really the weirdest thing ever.

Centaur: If you were a centaur, what would be your preferred weapon to fight people with?

Specialised bow and arrow FITE ME I’M AN AESTHETIC BITCH

Chimera: Have you ever sent a chimera after anyone? And if you haven’t, who would you love to send a chimera after?

I can’t exactly remember if sending a chimera is good or bad, and imma assume bad, so probably ever guy that ever tries to tell me that I’m bisexual when I specifically say that I’m pansexual, and then argues to me about what bi and pan is.

Demon: If you could choose any human to be the vessel for your demon soul, who would it be?

Tom Holland, caus A) he’s hot B) I could date harrison osterfield (If he’s bi/pan/gay/polysexual) C) TESSAAAAAA

Devils: What’s the evilest prank you really want to pull?

Pretending to date a dude and get my parents hopes up then make out with a girl in front of them.

Dragon: Does your pet a dragon breathe fire or ice?

Fire duh, he/she/they could warm me whilst i sleep and keep me safe, and be a great cuddler.

Dryad: Would you be a dryad that helps those who come seeking information or would you hide away in the trees and spy on everyone?

Probably hide in the trees and spy on everyone, knowing me i would chuck berries and them and think I’m being helpful too

Fairy: What type of fairy would you be? (A pizza fairy, a comfy sweater fairy, a rain fairy etc.)

A rain fairy, caus i fucking love rain, the dew drops that it leaves on leafs, the freezing cold winds and the beautiful sound against an iron sheet, rain is my shit dudes. Either that or a night fairy, because i adore the stars and when it is absolutely pitch black and you can literally see the milky way

Flibbertigibbet: Is that the sound you make when you sneeze? If not, what is it?

Either the loudest sound you have EVER HEARD IN YOUR ENTIRE LIFE or the smallest noise ever there is no inbetween

Ghost: If you were a ghost, what’s the first thing you would do?

Meet celebrities and fucking haunt their hot asses, like just hang around tom holland and help him out and send him good vibes, or like open doors for tom hiddleston caus he’s so polite, he needs a polite ghost to pay him back for his loveliness

Goblin: How would you style your fabulous hair if you were a goblin?

Like storm from x-men except teal, caus that shits tight

***Goat: You recieve a baby goat as a birthday present; what do you name it?

SHIT PRESSURE I DON’T KNOW ok delilah, caus I’ll sing hey there delilah to her and i ain’t EVER HEARD OF A GOAT NAMED DELILAH

Gnome: If you could grow anything in your garden, what would it be?

Gryphon: Would you rather be an eagle, a lion, oR bOtH?!?!?

Kitchen Skink: If you were to fight a kitchen skink, would you win? (I’m sorry I have no idea what a kitchen skink is)

Leprechaun: What would you do with a duffel bag full of Leprechaun gold?

Well i’m half irish so probably take em out for a pint of Guiness and have a good time with em, chill out and be cool.

Manticore: Which would you rather have: shark teeth, bat wings, or a scorpion tail?

BAT WINGS MY DUDE THAT WOULD BE THE SHIT AND IT WOULD BE SO FUCKING COOL I COULD FLY AND JUST SCREAM AT PEOPLE AND FREAK THEM THE FUCK OUT

Mermaid: Under The Sea or Part of Your World?

Part of your world, i could sing that till i die i swear

Merewolves: What’s the grossest food you’ve ever eaten?

OK SO STORY TIME i used to live in france and there was this place where we got lunch, and once we got this horrible seafood stew, somehow the carrots were undercooked, the mussels were overcooked and chewy, and the fish was falling apart in the stew and tasted rotten, it made me throw up i hated it.

Minotaur: Are you good at solving mazes or do you totally suck?

I once ran through a maze as a kid and never made it to the centre, despite having gone super fast and been in it for like 3 hours

Ne’er-do-wolves: If you could be any magickal creature on this list, which would it be?

I’d be a fucking nymph no joke my dude they’re awesome for sure

Numpties: How do you feel about people sitting in the front seat when they were kidnapped by fucking numpties?

Absolutely disgraced, horrible, disgraceful

Nymph: Would you rather sing beautifully or dance beautifully?

Sing because fuck it i want to be a gorgeous singer, and if i can’t dance then someone can teach me yas

Ogres: What is your favorite movie? *cough* SHREK *cough cough*

THE MARTIAN AND A HITCHHIKER’S GUIDE TO THE GALAXY FUCKING FITE ME

Phoenix: If you could explode into flames and come out completely unharmed anytime you wanted, what would you use that skill for?

Probably exams, if someone dies in an exam then everyone gets their predicted grades and i’m gonna help my buddies out, i joke about it sometimes but damn i would for my friends

Pixie: What would trail behind you if you were a pixie? (Sprinkles, bacon bits, rose petals, tiny skulls etc.)

Fucking lightning my dude, imagine you step on water and fucking lightning spreads on the surface of it that shit would be tight

Rakshasa: (Rakshasa means ‘protect me’ in Sanskrit) What does your name mean?

Sophie: wisdom/wise

Siren: What is the one thing Sirens could sing about that you would not be able to resist?

Self improvement, like if they offered acting classes or art improvement i’d go right over there like fuck the crew of my ship imma crash it and improve myself fuck em

Snow Devil: If you had a perfect snowball in your hand right now, what would you do with it?

Take a picture, then a video of me shoving it down my little brothers shirt and freezing the shit out of him

Sprite: Which would you rather be, a sprite that can breathe underwater or a sprite that can fly?

BREATHE UNDERWATER I COULD EXPLORE EVERYWHERE ONLY 5% OF THE OCEAN IS EXPLORED I WANT TO SEE WHAT’S THERE THAT WOULD BE SO COOL

Tooth Fairy: What do you think the Tooth Fairy does with all of those teeth?

I was always told they take the teeth and turn them into pearls and make beautiful mosaics from the different coloured pearls (this was in a kids book) but i also like the idea from rise of the guardians that they hold memories

Trolls: What’s your favorite phrase? (Example: Fuck a nine-toed troll)

“Aight my dudes”, that or “ah nipple fuck” i don’t know i just love the phrase

Unicorns: Would you be a pleasant and gentle unicorn that grants wishes or would you be a powerful kickass unicorn that stabs anyone who gets on their bad side?

Bit a both, pleasant to my friends or a complete asshole to anyone who insults them, these are my friends, hurt them and u get stabbed

Werewolf: Who is your favorite werewolf?

There was this one animatic of a werewolf who had a boyfriend and called him puppy and that would be my fave werewolf ever, like i might share it on here but it makes me happy af

Worseger: How do badgers personally impact your life? Could they get any ‘worse’?

Not really, badgers don’t ever really bother me and i don’t bother them

Wraith: Would wraiths be creeped out by you too?

Duh, i’m freaky as hell

Vampire: Who is your favorite vampire? (Besides our lovely Basilton of course)

Probably dracula’s ladies, like in the traditional story he has 3 beautiful women who entrance men to their deaths and they’re really kick ass to me

and you’re not wrong sunglasses are so kick ass