#non-compliant

[skalidra]

Just so you know (and no pressure intended) I am SUPER EXCITED at the prospect of a fourth chapter of Non-Compliant appearing at some point *insert excitable clappy hands here*

Hehehehe. It's good to know that it's got an audience, cause it's certainly one of my pet projects. Some things are just for me, so everyone else that actually likes it is just bonus. XD

[monaisme]

One Week Later - Chapter 12

This is the sequel to my one shot, “The Battle,” which can be found here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30027636

As it’s been a while, you can also find the rest of this story here... if you’d like to refresh your memory:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30168360

Enjoy!

Mr. Stark had been officially released from the care of the med bay staff with strict instructions to take it easy and follow up with Dr. Cho in the following days to make sure that his recovery was on track and that his medications didn’t need to be further adjusted.

To say that Mr. Stark was pleased would be an understatement.

And to say that Mrs. Stark was even more pleased that she didn’t have to listen to him complain about his hospital gown or being trapped in the med bay anymore was also an understatement.

The relief Peter felt in knowing that his mentor was actually going to be alright after all the chaos that Pete himself had caused made all the difference... well, enough of a difference that Dr. Cho could finally come to his bedside and check on his own progress without Peter being completely distracted by the elephant in the room—who was now sat on the other side of the curtain, waiting for word on Peter’s own release plans.

Dr. Cho was efficient in completing what was left of her examination, using her steady hands to poke and prod at every single tender spot on his ribcage and then shifted her focus to tug at the tape on his leg.

Peter couldn’t contain his flinch as she yanked off the last inch. “Ouch.”

She muttered a sympathetic, “Sorry, Peter.”  

“S’okay,” he replied, even thought Peter was sure the apology was a big ol’ fib. (Dr. Cho was a sadist. He was 99% sure of it.)

She had leaned in to get a closer look at the wound proper, pressing lightly at the skin surrounding his sutures and giving no hint to what she was thinking, which frustrated him more than he’d expected. He risked a peek at the uncovered wound as she worked. It was still feeling pretty tender, Peter had to admit and was curious to know why. It should have been closer to gone than not... but—crap. Dr. Cho moved her head away, giving him a clear view of the still relatively fresh looking wound. Double crap. Peter didn’t need a medical degree to see that his leg wasn’t healing as quickly as it should be.

She sighed as she stepped back from his bedside, then gave him a pointed look. “Alright, Peter, can I be frank with you?”

Peter looked up nervously from his leg to Dr. Cho and then to the curtain that still divided him from Mr. Stark, knowing that whatever she had to say wasn’t going to be good, then answered, “Uh-huh... um, yeah. Of course?”

She picked up on his discomfort immediately so she threw him a lifeline. “Would you like Tony and Pepper to be a part of the conversation?”

Peter gnawed at his lip as he quickly nodded in the affirmative. “Yes, please?”

Dr. Cho smiled kindly, “Alright then.” She patted his hand in reassurance and then pulled open the curtain to reveal Mr. Stark, sitting on the edge of his bed and looking just as anxious as Peter.

“You two are quite the pair, you know.” She teased lightly.

“If by ‘quite the pair,’ you mean troublemakers, then you are correct, Helen. They absolutely are,” Mrs. Stark teased from her out-of-the-way corner,” causing both Peter and Mr. Stark to chuckle in embarrassment, “But I’m fairly certain that you’re talking about their ability to stress over each other like it’s their job.”

“That’s exactly what I meant, Pepper, and I’m glad to know that someone else can see it, too,” Dr. Cho agreed, “Regardless, it’s late and I’m sure Peter would like to get some real rest, so let’s update everyone on what’s happening here so he can sleep.” She addressed the Starks and then focused her attention on her patient. “Okay. Peter?”

He hesitated before answering, “’kay.”

Her gaze softened, “Hey, there’s nothing to worry about, Peter. You know there’s nothing we can’t fix... however, I am concerned that you’re healing isn’t as far along as it should be. With us not knowing if there will be any lingering effects after the final snap and more specifically what you’ve gone through in the last days with your mutation, I’m thinking we might need to re-run a couple of tests to make sure we didn’t miss anything back in Wakanda.”

Peter’s stomach dropped and his mind raced as he tried to figure out what could be going wrong now?!

And then Mr. Stark cleared his throat. “Yeah, uh, sorry to interrupt, but I’m pretty sure nothing was missed in Wakanda.” He slid off his med bay bed and stepped over to the doctor. “If anything, this one is me. We’ve been so busy trying to deal with the chaos of coming back that we neglected to make sure that Peter had been eating.”

Dr. Cho processed what Mr. Stark was telling her, then glared at him. “Tony. He wasn’t at one hundred percent yet, which is why I told you that he had to eat—and in fact made it one of the conditions of his release from the hospital wing in Wakanda.”  

Mr. Stark threw his hands up in surrender. “Trust me, Helen, I get it. I dropped the ball.” Mr. Stark cast an apologetic glance Peter’s way then focused again on the doctor. “Life got a little bit crazy for a hot minute, but it won’t happen again. I can promise you that. We’ll get him back on his feet.”

Peter could hear the guilt woven through that promise, and he couldn’t allow it. “But it was my fault, Mr. Stark! Not yours!” He winced at the pain in his ribs from his protest. “You gave me food. You know you did... I just... forgot.” Peter flushed as he confessed. Everything he’d done before to mess things up—the panic attack, and then the next one, and the running...

Everyone’s attention was focused on him and food was the last thing on Peter’s mind.

Mr. Stark’s fingers snapping in his face pulled him from the start of his spiral. “Nope. Not gonna do that, kid. Whatever you’re thinking right now is either bullshit or to be tabled for later. Got it?” He waited for Peter to settle, and then nod in agreement. “Good. Because right now, we’ve got something we need to fix, so...” Mr. Stark turned back to Dr. Cho. “Now what?”

“Well, I’m afraid this makes me the bearer of bad news. I was hoping that I could release you by breakfast to convalesce in your own bed, but that obviously can’t happen now.” She seemed to be contemplating something. “If I ask you a question, will you be honest with me, Peter?”

Peter swallowed hard then answered, “Sure?”

She seemed satisfied with his response so she continued, “If I were to order a Peter-portioned meal for you right now and asked you to eat, would you be able to?”

His stomach churned at the mere thought. “Uh huh. I guess?”

Dr. Cho did not look convinced so Peter had to work harder.

“I mean, not like a steak or something but...”

She sighed. “How’s about we start with some toast and apple sauce, with a couple of those super nutrition shakes that Cap likes to drink and see how that feels before we work up to something heavier? Fair deal?”

Peter didn’t need to think about it. He nodded.

“Perfect.” Dr. Cho smiled reassuringly at him again. “We need to build you up, Peter. You’re body doesn’t have the fuel it needs to repair itself, but once we get that sorted, we’ll be able to get you out of here and back in the real world.”  

The idea of “the real world” felt far more daunting than Peter had expected but he couldn’t help but perk up. “So I can still leave tomorrow morning if I eat tonight?” Peter would choke down every ounce of nutrition shake disgustingness if it meant that he could—“

“I’m sorry, Peter. That’s not quite what I said, but nice try.” She gave his hand a pat and continued. “We’ll reassess after you’ve had some calories and some real rest and see where it leads. Okay? I’m hopeful that there’s enough of an improvement by—let’s say lunchtime, that we don’t need to worry about anything more than calories, nourishment, and the standard protocols.”

“Okay, so maybe by lunch then?”

“We’ll reassess, Peter,” she repeated, a tad more sternly. “I don’t want to release you and then have you wind up back here again because we moved too quickly... again.” That last jibe was directed at Mr. Stark.

“But I promised I’d eat?!” Peter leaned forward as he exclaimed, tweaking his ribcage again. “Ouch—shit!” He clutched at his ribs. “Now that I know, I can be extra careful—“ His promise was lost in the coughing jag that snuck up on him.

Doctor Cho stepped back to let Mr. Stark soothe him while he worked his way through the fit, but kept alert in case things took a turn—which they didn’t. Peter pushed Mr. Stark’s hands away from him weakly. “Stop it. ‘m fine.” Peter insisted. “I could even go up now.” *cough-cough* “An’ I can stay in bed.”

“Peter,” Friendly Dr. Cho was definitely becoming less so. “Now may be a good time to bring up the fact that you came into the med bay with a punctured lung as a direct result of multiple broken ribs which required the use of a chest tube to keep you from suffocating. Your concussion is barely resolved. And let’s not lose sight of the fact that you were bleeding out from a wound in your thigh from who knows what that isn’t healing as quickly as it should AND is actually looking a little red and puffy at the edges.”

“What?!” Both Starks were at his bedside and looking more closely at the still uncovered wound but it was Mr. Stark who started freaking out. “You’ve got him on antibiotics, right? That alley was all sorts of nasty and he could have—“

“Tony, stop.” Mrs. Stark stopped his descent into a panic attack with those two words. Peter had missed so much. “Let her speak.”

Dr. Cho acknowledged Mrs. Stark’s call out with a nod then addressed everyone. “First off, of course Peter’s on antibiotics. We knew where he’d been found thanks to the information Pepper provided—not that it changed the course of treatment.” Her focus shifted to Peter. “Antibiotics have always been a part of your open wound protocol, Peter. And as it seems you’re developing some sort of infection, I’m afraid you’ll be on those for a while still.”

Peter started to protest, “But—“

“But nothing, Peter. I’m sorry, but unless something has changed in the last two hours, the Starks are currently responsible for your medical decisions, and I’m sure they’re still on board with this.” Peter flushed at the reminder of the insanity of his life as she looked to the two other adults, who both nodded sympathetically. “I’m sorry, Peter, but it’s necessary. At this point, I can almost guarantee you’ll be a resident of the med bay until at least tomorrow evening—maybe longer depending on the blood panels we’re going to run once I get some blood samples for you.”

Peter scowled, which Dr. Cho was amazingly immune to after all her years of taking care of Mr. Stark and the rest of the Avengers. “If you’re blood work looks good, and we can get your leg healed up and your lungs sounding better by then, I may,” she stressed that word for emphasis, “find it within the kindness of my heart to switch you over to an oral antibiotic and let you head upstairs to finish up your healing there... but when that happens this time, I’ll be checking—frequently, so don’t think you’ll be free to undo all the hard work we’ve done on you in the past week, got it?”

Peter heaved as big a sigh as his damaged ribcage would allow, then mumbled a less than polite sounding, “Yes, ma’am.”

Again, used to the petulance of disinclined patients, Dr. Cho ignored the attitude and moved on. “Perfect.” She grinned like she hadn’t just broken Peter’s heart and walked toward the bedside table, the Starks backing up to give her the necessary room. Pulling open a drawer, she pulled out the supplies needed to cover the wound back up. “Now, I’m going to wrap this quickly,” she dropped the supplies on the table and better positioned Peter’s leg. The wound was covered with several gauze pads and Dr. Cho expertly wrapped them securely in place. “And because I’m such a nice person, I’m not even going to use tape on your skin. Sorry again, by the way.” She gave him a cheeky wink, trying to cheer him up, it seemed. “And you’re welcome.”

“Thanks. I ‘preciate that,” he mumbled. Peter crooked a weak half-smile, but avoided making any sort of eye contact. The imperfections in the blanket covering Peter’s other leg were suddenly far more interesting.

No one said a word as Dr. Cho finished the wrap, or when she pulled out the equipment necessary to do the blood draw she’d wanted. Once that was completed, Peter only whispered an ‘okay’ when she announced that a tray would be delivered soon and that he was to eat everything... or else, and then left.

“Well then,” Peter flinched as Mr. Stark clapped his hands together and declared, “one thing Dr. Cho got right is that it is late, so let’s get Peter fed and watered so we can all call it a night, shall we?”

Mrs. Stark rolled her eyes and sighed. “How’s about first we send you off upstairs to change into something more comfortable?”

Peter froze at the words.

But they also stopped Mr. Stark in his tracks. “Why, Mrs. Stark,” he playfully wriggled his eyebrows. “Something more comfortable? Are you trying to seduce me?”

Giving him a playful shove, she mock scolded him. “Damn it, Tony!” Mrs. Stark blushed at her husband’s antics. “It’s late and we’re all exhausted. Can you be serious for one minute, please?!”

Mr. Stark paused, then processed what he’d heard before grinning deviously, “Oh ho, my dearest Pepper Potty Mouth—I think someone owes the swear jar a contribution.”

She scowled. “Real cute, Tony. I was under duress so it doesn’t count.”

“Oh, it counts, Pep. Don’t even try to get out of it. Besides, what kind of example are you setting for our young and impressionable Peter, here? Huh?” Mr. Stark gestured over to Peter, expecting the Peter of five years ago to add his own banter to the mix, but present day Peter was at play and couldn’t find it in him to comply... not now. Not when—“Peter?” Mr. Stark sobered quickly. “Sweetheart, are you alright?”

Peter didn’t process that he was the one being spoken to right away, but caught on to the stretch of uncomfortable silence and realized a beat too late. He smiled robotically and nodded, probably a little too emphatically to be convincing, if he thought about it. He choked out an, “Sorry? –zoned out... I’m fine?” and hoped it would be enough. That’s what he’d asked Peter, right?

Mr. Stark approached Peter with a confused caution, then reached out and brushed a thumb gently against Peter’s cheek. “I don’t think I believe that, bambino.” He presented his tear-dampened hand to Peter, showing him the reason for his doubt. “Wanna try that again?”  

“Wha—?” Peter brought his own hand to his face and wiped at the tears he hadn’t noticed falling. “Oh. I didn’t know.” He repeated his previous words. “I’m sorry.”

There was no disguising the concern on Mr. Stark’s face. “I don’t want you to be sorry, Peter... I want you to be okay. Can you tell me what’s going on in that brain of yours?”

And Peter wanted to—wanted to tell Mr. Stark to stay because if he walked out the med bay doors, Peter would be right back where he was when his parents kissed him goodbye all those years ago, or when Ben had laid before him dying on the sidewalk that night—or when his heart had almost stopped beating at the thought of his last living—no. He couldn’t. He knew what Mr. Stark had promised, but the idea of putting it to the test?—His chest ached.

He was so tired of the jumble of thoughts in his head... so tired of being left behind.

Peter had to try harder. “I think I’m just over-tired, Mr. Stark... and my head is still hurting a little so—Dr. Cho is probably right that I need to rest, so I’m just gonna...” Peter fumbled to find the controls for his bed.

“Yeah, I don’t think so, kid.” Mr. Stark stopped his hand. “Helen said you had to eat first, and besides that, I’ve seen you tired. Your version of tired is you falling asleep at your work station mid-sentence with a screwdriver still in your hand. This is not ‘just tired.’” He could feel Mr. Stark’s gaze on him. “Does your head hurt enough that I should call Helen back?”

A short head shake, ‘no.’

“Then it’s something else? ‘Cuz I know you, Peter Parker, and this is screaming deflection. What’s going on?”

Peter clamped his mouth shut. He wouldn’t.

Mr. Stark leaned forward, resting on the guard rail of Peter’s bed, and staring at Peter like he was a puzzle to solve. “So you’re not gonna talk, huh?”

Peter closed his eyes. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Mr. Stark inhaled, ready to speak up when a knock on the room’s door frame interrupted him and drawing Peter’s attention.

“Hey, Peter. Looks like I’ve lucked out and get to see you one more time tonight! I’ve got the tray that Dr. Cho requested here for you,” Lydie announced as she entered the room and placed the tray on a rolling table that had been parked by the door before wheeling it over to the bed. She pointed to the food directly in front of her patient. “Eat, and so you know, I’ve been directed to measure intake so I think she means business.”

Peter scowled. “I said I would.”

“And I’ll be keeping track to prove it, so get going.” She pulled a spoon from the napkin on his tray and held it out for Peter to grab. “And a friendly reminder. It’s late and sleep is another part of your care plan. Slow and steady is all good if you need the time to get this down, but this isn’t a dinner date—” She eyeballed the Starks as she said that. “Let him eat. Got it?” Yup. Lydie was used to dealing with difficult patients and visitors alike.

Mrs. Stark smiled, “Of course, Lydie. In fact, I’ll make sure he takes care of that tray while your former patient heads up to the penthouse to get changed into something he won’t complain about.” She gave Mr. Stark a gentle shoulder bump and made a show of gently pushing Mr. Stark a few steps closer to the door. “And if we play our cards right, Tony here will be back just in time to tuck Peter in and get in a few more hours of sleep for himself, too.”

Peter perked up at that. “Hold on? You’re coming back?”

Both of the Starks seemed surprised by the question, but Mr. Stark spoke up, “Of course, I’m coming back, sweetheart! You don’t think Doctor Strange snapped me up a bed just for kicks, did you?”

Peter didn’t answer... couldn’t.

“Perfect. Then I’ll leave you to it,” Lydie addressed Mrs. Stark again. “And if Peter does manage to fall asleep before I check back, just push the table away and I’ll collect the tray later.”

“Of course. Thanks, Lydie,” Mrs. Stark responded.

And Lydie left.

The silence that accompanied the nurse’s exit allowed them all a moment with their thoughts, but Peter could barely process that Mr. Stark was really coming back. He wouldn’t be all al—

“Pardon me, Pete? I can’t hear what you’re saying.”

It took a second to realize that he’d said that out loud?

“Peter? Honey? Did you think—?” Mr. Stark couldn’t bear to finish the question, Mr. Stark simply looked confused for the briefest second and then understood. “Wait a second? You’d honestly thought we were leaving you for the night?” He didn’t even try to hide the hurt at Peter’s assumption. “C’mon, Pete! Of course I’m coming back! I always stay when May can’t—right? That’s the deal!”

Peter fiddled with the spoon with his fingers, not quite sure how to answer the question.

“Peter?” Mr. Stark whispered.

“I’m sorry.”

Mr. Stark exhaled and dragged a hand down his face in frustration. “You know... I’m really hating that word, kid. It seems that’s all we are these days.”

Peter bit his tongue.

“I think,” Mrs. Stark spoke up quietly to no one in particular, “that I am going to head up and grab some clothing and such for tonight so that no one else needs to leave anyone. I’m going to give Happy a quick call to check up on Morgan before I come back down though, so don’t expect me too soon, okay?” She gave Mr. Stark a quick peck on the cheek and then did the same for Peter, much to his surprise. “If you do manage to fall asleep before I get back, Peter, dream sweet for me, and I’ll see you when you wake up.” She ran an affectionate hand gently over his messy curls, smiled softly, and left the room.

They both stayed silent as they listened to Mrs. Stark’s delicate footsteps make their way farther and farther down the hallway and then listened as the elevator doors opened and then closed as Mrs. Stark made the request to FRIDAY to head up to the penthouse, please.

Figuring that he should say something, Peter mumbled, “You really could have gone up... I’d’ have been okay— even if you didn’t come back.” Yeah, it was a lie, but no one had to know.

But Mr. Stark disagreed. “Nah, it’s probably a good thing I stayed. If I’d have gone up to change, I’d have probably tried to take a shower, and I’m tired enough that I’d have somehow managed to fall asleep standing up, which would have led to my falling, hitting my head and knocking myself unconscious, and then I’d drown for good measure. Seriously, Peter, you saved my life.” Mr. Stark laughed low. “Those would be some Elvis calibre headlines, I’m tellin’ you,’ kid. You just rescued the PR department from a load of grief.”

Peter simply chuckled. “Glad I could help.”

And then neither of them said anything.

The silence held a little longer this time. So long, in fact, that Peter thought for sure that Mr. Stark was working out a way to jump into the heavy stuff again— Imagine his surprise when the next words out of his mouth were, “Try one of the super shakes, kid. I played around with the flavours and textures a bit while you were...” Mr. Stark swallowed down the ‘gone’ and moved forward like he hadn’t almost said it—“Yeah, Cap says they’re almost palatable now, but you’ll have to tell me. I mean, Cap grew up in a time when boiled potatoes and cabbage were a delicacy so I’m not so willing to trust his word for it.”

Peter offered a small, but sincere smile at the gloriously normal teasing. “I like boiled potatoes, Mr. Stark,” he replied back. “It’s one of the few things Aunt May couldn’t screw up in the kitchen, well... if she didn’t forget about them altogether — add a little salt and there they were. Perfection in its simplicity.”

“Well then, if that’s the case, tomorrow we’ll make sure to get some boiled potatoes on the menu for you. In fact—FRI?” Mr. Stark called up to the ceiling. “Can you get that request to whomever it is that could make that actually happen, please?”

“Of course, Boss.” FRIDAY said, then paused before continuing. “A notation has been made on the daily task sheet for Mr. Devin Kotter, Food Services Director for Stark Industries. He is scheduled to be on site at 6:30 am, though I cannot confirm when he will see it. Would you like me to make a verbal request upon his arrival, Boss?”

“That sounds great, Baby Girl. Thanks.” Mr. Stark chuckled as he finished that exchange and then dragged a hand down his face as his own fatigue caught up with him. “Yeah, remind me to tell Pep that I did that, okay? She thinks I’ve finally outgrown the whole ‘billionaire making stupid requests’ portion of my emotional development and if this gets back to her before I say something, she’ll wonder what’s up.”  

“Yeah, I can do that.” Peter fiddled with his spoon before putting it down in front of him. “Uh, thanks.”

“No problem, now,” Mr. Stark assessed the meal in front of Peter before picking up the two cans off of the tray and giving them an appraising look. “I’m looking at your selection, and I’d personally recommend starting with the double chocolate shake before using the apple sauce and toast as a bit of a palate cleanser. I see that Lydie brought you a French vanilla shake, too—something light and sweet to finish off...” Peter yawned. “If you can manage to make it that far.”  

Peter clutched at his rib as he caught himself in a snort laugh. “Yeah, I can do it. But what was that? A palate cleanser? Were you a maître d’ in a past life?”

Feigning offense, Mr. Stark raised his chin high, “I’ll have you know, I have a rather refined palate, Mr. Parker. You’d do well to take my advice if you want to get the most out of—“ he waved a can-filled hand toward Peter’s tray, “That.”

Peter sighed in resignation. He’d gagged on enough of these shakes during previous med bay stays that he knew it would be disgusting no matter what, but what choice did he have? His stomach was already churning at the idea of having to consume anything at all. “Ugh. Fine. I guess I’ll start with the chocolate.” He put his hand out to receive the can, which Mr. Stark shook up then kindly popped open before giving.

“Excellent choice, kid, now drink up so we don’t get yelled at when Pepper gets back.”

Peter did as he was told, choking back the canned shake quickly enough that he only barely tasted the faux-chocolate. He shuddered. “Nope. Sorry. Still gross,” he bit out as he struggled to suppress the urge to retch. He dragged in barely deep enough breath after barely deep enough breath, trying to quell the nausea.

“Yeah, I figured Cap was full of shit.” Mr. Stark rubbed Peter’s back as he fought for control. “Sorry about that, but we’ve got to get you eating, so...”

He swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth and waited a beat before he spoke again, “’s okay. Gotta do it so I can go.”

“Yeah, you do, I wish it was easier for you though.” Mr. Stark watched as Peter settled a bit. “Think you’re ready to try the toast and apple sauce now?”

Honestly, he wasn’t, but what else could he do? He steeled himself for more, grabbing a piece of lightly buttered toast. “No apple sauce.” Slurping something else down... no way. His gag reflex would never forgive him.

Mr. Stark seemed to get it, so he sat back down in the chair at his bedside and gave Peter the time he needed to focus on getting what he could down. “Is that at least feeling better than the shake?”

Peter nodded. He had to admit, the toast was definitely settling better than that shake, even as he could feel the shake making the littlest bit of a difference. There had been an undercurrent of weakness Peter hadn’t noticed until it started to resolve which meant... Peter yawned again, wider than the last time, as he feebly brushed the crumbs from the front of his hospital gown. His body was going to put the influx of nutrients to work right now. He stared at the tray, exhausted by the amount of effort he’d have to put in to keep going. “I’m not sure I’m gonna be able to finish this, Mr. Stark.”  

“Oh?” Mr. Stark stood up again. “Are you okay? Is the first shake still making you feel sick?”

“No... I mean, yeah, the shake is definitely still trying to decide if it’s gonna stay put, I think, but no. I really am super tired, is all.”

Mr. Stark surveyed the tray. “I’m pretty sure you haven’t had enough, kiddo. The med bay gods will not be pleased.” He picked up the second shake and held it out in offering. “I know it’s hard, but do you think you could at least get this one down, or even just half? For me?”

Afraid that even being in the vicinity of the shake would set him off, Peter pressed himself back into his pillows. “I’d do about anything for you, Mr. Stark, but I honest-to-goodness don’t think I can.“ He clamped his mouth shut and shook his head in protest. He hoped beyond hope that Mr. Stark could see the sincerity in his eyes. He knew he should be eating and the fact that he was doing nothing but worry Mr. Stark was beyond obvious, he just—“Please? Like—even if you just hold onto it and I promise I’ll try again later, I just...” His chin warbled. “Shit.” Again?! He felt them coming, and Peter tried to blink the tears away—then failed. “I swear Mr. Stark, the shake isn’t even that bad. I don’t know why...” Peter pressed the heels of his hands hard into his eyes, hoping this would stem the tide.

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t do that.” Mr. Stark pulled Peter’s hands away, then grasped them tightly in his own. “It’s okay. It’s okay. You don’t need a reason, and you especially don’t need to be embarrassed... and if you want to, we’ll hold onto the shake for later. Alright? This isn’t a race. We’ll get you upstairs, I promise, but until then, we’ll make sure someone’s always here, okay? You’re not going to be alone—not for one second, if we can help it, do you hear me?”

Peter nodded as vigorously as his actual headache allowed, “I know, I know. I promise. I’m just—“ Peter didn’t know how to explain so he flailed his hands in the air. “It’s just—“

“Look, today’s been a bit of shit show, again, and you keep getting put through the ringer, so why don’t I tuck my spider-baby into bed and sit with you until you fall asleep, huh? When you wake up, I promise that someone will still be with you, okay? Either Pep or me... or both maybe? We’ll see.” Mr. Stark thought for a moment. “And,” He picked up the shake again and gave it a little wiggle. “I’m gonna sneak this demon shake under your pillow in case you wake up and decide that you want to have another go at it. Okay?” Mr. Stark quickly hid the shake out of sight.

Tears slowing, Peter yawned then nodded. Sleep sounded better than anything right now.

“Fantastic.” The man smiled, “Let me adjust this for you and then—“ Mr. Stark found the controls Peter had been fumbling for and started to lower the back of the bed. “Let me know when it’s good, yeah?”

Peter closed his eyes and let himself fall back with the mattress, ignoring the twinges of discomfort in his ribs until it felt right. “There,” he whispered and the bed stilled.

“Then there it is,” Mr. Stark spoke softer than he had before.

Peter didn’t bother to open his eyes again, wasn’t sure that he could if he were asked to. His head was perfectly cushioned now that he was a little closer to flat, the headache he’d been actively ignoring seemed to lessen.

“That’s it, kiddo. Just keep your eyes closed, I’ve got you,” Mr. Stark whispered. “Another blanket for the bambino,” Peter felt the weight of a new blanket settling upon him. “We’ll snuggle you in tight.” Mr. Stark pulled the blankets up over his shoulders. “And for good measure—“ A soft kiss pressed against his forehead. “There you go; an official dad-kiss to keep the nightmares away. Now—“ Mr. Stark ran a gentle hand through Peter’s hair. “Good night, Peter. I’m right here with you if you need me.”

Peter hummed in acknowledgement, let himself sink further into the mattress. “Thanks, Mr. Stark. G’night.”

Mr. Stark sighed then spoke softly, “You know, one day you’ll call me Tony... in fact, I think I might just try some subliminal messaging while you sleep—if that’s okay with you?”

Peter laughed just as softly, “Go for it, Mr. Stark.,“ he replied and tried to let his mind drift.

When he finally let go and nodded off completely only a few minutes later, it was to Mr. Stark’s hushed whispers. “Mr. Stark must be called Tony... Mr. Stark must be called Tony... Mr. Stark must...”

Tony’s POV

Tony glanced up from his moderately comfortable seat when Pepper slid near silently into the room looking dressed for bed and holding a small bag of personal items for him. “Hey, honey. You’ve been gone longer than I thought you’d be. Is everything alright with Morgan? Happy?” he whispered as he stood up to receive it, concern bleeding into his tone.

“Everything’s fine,” she answered quietly as she noted the sleeping boy in his bed. “Happy is most likely going to be bringing Morgan back to the penthouse tomorrow. Apparently being at the lakehouse makes her sad because it’s missing her Gerald.”

Tony, who had already rifled through the bag and produced a shirt and sweats, paused in confusion. “Gerald? I don’t remember a Gerald? Is that new friend at daycare?”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “Nope. It’s the alpaca we haven’t bought her yet.”

“Good grief,” Tony huffed out as he put one leg, and then another into the sweats. “She’s named it? That’s it. I’m blaming you and that alphabet book, missus ‘A is for alpacas!’ Honestly, Pep. It’s been two years—if she keeps this up, I might crack. A man can only take so much!” He exclaimed with hushed urgency even as he yanked the sweats up around his waist.

“No, you won’t,” Pepper soothed, “Besides, we have more important things to deal with than Morgan’s animal fixation.” Her attention fell on the sleeping teenager. “How’s he doing?”

Tony shook his head as he finally discarded the hospital gown then hastily pulled the band shirt over his head. “Physically? I know he’ll be fine. Emotionally? He’s a wreck, and I can’t blame him one bit. I’m a little concerned about his eating, but he’s had a rough week, and I want to give things a chance to normalize before I completely freak out.”

Pepper pondered for a moment. “If I’m remembering correctly, he’s never been great with his medications, has he?” Pepper asked. “It took a day or two for his stomach to settle, right?”

He recalled those times, before Thanos, when Peter had ended up in the med bay because of a stab wound or, more often, a broken bone. He’d always try to tough it out, but eventually a painkiller would need to be used and eventually Peter would be puking into an emesis basin. Poor kid. “Yeah, you’re right. Geez. I can’t believe that slipped my mind... I’m sure that’s it. It’s still tough to watch, though.”

“I know it is,” Pepper comforted him, “But he’s right where he needs to be, and we’re going to make sure he gets better soon, I promise. And if Happy and Morgan are going to be home tomorrow, we’ll have more reinforcements on the ‘take care of Peter’ front.”

He knew she was right, that his worrying was for nothing. Peter was going to be fine, but still something felt unsettled, like he was missing something important. His obsessing would get him nowhere, though, so he allowed the redirect. “Yeah. Morgan is going to freak out when she meets him, isn’t she?” He sat himself back down in the chair and pulled Pepper into his lap.

“She sure is.” She rested her head on his shoulder as she snuggled in.

“And I bet you Happy’s gonna blather like a baby.”

Pepper hummed as she nodded into his neck. “Fool’s bet, sweetheart. Not taking it.”

They both sat with their thoughts for a few minutes and Tony wondered if Pepper had managed to fall asleep before he’d worked his way through the chaos in his brain. “Pep? Are you still awake?”

“M-hm.”

“Pep? I’m really scared that I’m going to mess this up.”

She pressed reassuringly against him. “I know you are.”

“But I’m going to, aren’t I?”

She hummed once more, then reached to wrap her arms around him, obviously more awake then he’d thought. “Yup, you are... and so am I—and I’d bet May’s got another whopper or two in her. He’s a teenager, Tony. Try as we might, we’re going to screw up... and then hope he knows we still love him at the end of the day.”

Tony let the words stew in his brain for a few minutes. “Pep?” He whispered into her hair once he’d figured out what else he needed to say. “I know I’ve already said this, but thanks... for supporting me, trusting me, being incredible... I know you didn’t sign up for this... him. You could have had a completely normal life... without me... and all of my baggage...”

Pepper drew in a deep breath, exhaled, and then lifted her head to give Tony all of her attention. “Mr. Stark, listen closely to what I am about to say to you, and remember it.” Tony tried to look away but her hushed intensity drew his gaze, “I knew what I was getting into the moment I met you. Maybe not the specifics, but still, I knew. I don’t think either of us expected the whole time travel and fighting intergalactic space villains thing so no one can take the blame for that but—” She paused a few seconds to collect her thoughts and continued, “You... my trusting you has led me to so many incredible things that I’d have missed out on if not for you. Being the CEO of an industry leading tech company that’s going to fix the world one day—being a mother to the most amazingly terrifying little girl—and finding a best friend and sister in May.” Her eyes took on a sadness as she continued. “So far, my dearest Mr. Stark, you and all of your baggage have led me to exactly where I want to be, and if that also means that I get to share in the raising of an incredible, selfless young man as he moves forward from this... trauma?...Grief? Then I’m on board, honey. For better or for worse, sickness or health, and all that other stuff, okay?”

Tony’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, “You are a gift, Pepper Potts-Stark... even though I technically made you CEO because I thought I was dying—“

“Oh!” Pepper shoved him away and stood up, trying to keep her laughter quiet as Tony did the same. “Don’t be a stinker, Tony. If you’re going to be that way, I’m going to take the bed.” She blew him an air kiss and made to climb into the spare med bay bed.

Tony couldn’t have that, “Or—“ he sidled up behind her, “We could share?”

She seemed to contemplate the offer, then rolled her eyes as she agreed, climbing in and working her way to the far side of the bed. “Fine, we can share, but if you even think of getting handsy, bud, then you’re out of here, got it?”

Tony chuckled low, “Got it. Seriously, all I want to do is snuggle up and grab a few hours before Peter wakes up again. I’m worried that—“

Whatever Tony was worried about was cut off by a barely audible whimper from Peter’s bed. Tony rushed to his side, glancing at the machines still connected to Peter to make sure that everything still looked the same. He’d practically memorized each monitor’s display and it all looked the same except for—

“No,” a simple, desperate plea escaped Peter’s lips and Tony understood why his heart rate was elevated.

Damned nightmares.

“Peter? Sweetheart? You’re okay, kiddo.” Tony caressed Peter’s cheek and hoped the kid could shake it off. “C’mon, bud. It’s just a dream, ‘kay? Just a dream...”

Maybe Peter had been working his way to waking up on his own, because his face relaxed and he turned towards Tony’s voice. “’Tony?”

His breath caught as he heard who Peter... his kid had called out for, and leaned closer to him as he soothed the boy back to sleep. “That’s right, sweetheart. I’m right here. Tony’s here.”  

Only feet away, Pepper watched on. Tony fixed Peter’s barely shuffled blanket and kissed his cheek before settling back into the chair alone, any plans for sleep forgotten. Tony didn’t need to explain to her that he’d keep vigil over their kid. Pepper set an alarm on her watch then took full advantage of the quiet. She closed her eyes to sneak in a few hours of sleep so she could wake up to take a turn at Peter’s bedside. Hopefully Tony would let her take his place then.

And if he didn’t, she’d take her place beside him... like always.

[withdenim]

I may never finish this so before I forget to post it. Have my contribution to dragons rising.

[evasive-anon]

Jason was having a pretty OK time with the league of assassins, sure getting dunked in a lazarus pit sucked and Bruce turned out to be a scumbag who didn't care about him, but at least he isn't dead. He even liked most of the new skills he was learning there so on the whole being with the league seemed like a pretty good deal to him until Talia woke him up in the middle of the night and left him alone with two child assassins.

Or, a demon twins AU where when Talia realizes her father intends to have her boys fight to the death takes action first by deciding to take all her kids and leave the league. Talia either dies or is separated from them in the initial escape and now Jason just has a bag of supplies and a letter from Talia explaining the plan to get to Gotham. Jason has to get himself and two 7 year olds out of the Himalayas, across a desert, and over 12k miles to Gotham. Only now the league members hunting them down want them dead or worse and Jason isn't too confident that B will accept them given their kill counts.

Featuring:

Good Mom Talia. she loves her kids. Did she teach them to kill? Sure, but that's an important life skill.

Single Teen Mom Jason. He's the oldest and in charge but he also will not answer any questions about The Plan™ given he isn't committed to Talia's but also doesn't have a set alternative. Oscillates between looking forward to just dumping his new little brothers with Bruce so they'll be his problem and thinking of just moving somewhere random in the US and keeping them based entirely on how cute vs annoying they are at that time. Didn't realize how much he relied on Talia to help him with things until she is gone. He's really trying his best but he wasn't all that emotionally stable before this so hang in there.

Angry Smol Dami. He's still drinking the LoS punch and really dislikes that he is now considered a traitor. Can't stand that Jason won't answer any of his very relevant questions. Is actually very scared but will not show it. Misses his mom. Didn't even know he had siblings until his mom yoinked him out of bed that night and brought him to Jason and Danny and started all this. Physically the stronger twin. Thinks Danny is dragging them down in fights and also may blame him a bit because clearly his mother only did all this to spare him.

Danny, reincarnated with limited access to his memories and powers. Has been trying to keep his powers a secret. Talia knew about them but never told anyone but she may have hinted at it in her letter to Jason. Not the strongest physically but very good at stealth and social interactions. Didn't know he had and older brother or twin before Jason woke him up at Talia's instruction that night. Thinks Damian is mean and has faith Jason knows what he's doing even if that is very much untrue.

[myimaginationplain]

On one hand, I think that Kiyi is actually a wonderful idea for a character; you can get a lot of interesting stories out of inserting this innocent, guiless little girl into such a fraught & complex pre-existing family dynamic.

However, some mind-numbingly bad storytelling decisions surround Kiyi's existence in canon. Ursa's magical amnesia chief among them; it is so goddamm boring to take a character with as much baggage to chew on as Ursa has, only to make it so she has to grapple with literally none of it.

No Ursa looking at baby Kiyi & mourning for the two babies she was forced to leave behind, grieving children who are still alive. No Ursa looking at Kiyi grow up & seeing Zuko & Azula in her, equally as happy as she is afraid for her. No Ursa trying to give Kiyi as normal & happy a childhood as she can, while constantly looking over her own shoulder, praying that she won't be recognized. No Ursa hearing wild rumors about her older children's whereabouts & actions, not knowing what to believe.

No, instead of any of that, we just get Ursa becoming a blank slate who can now go off & live a blissfully ignorant happily ever after with her (equally blank) high school sweetheart, forgetting the very children whom she risked everything for in the first place. And that sucks.

Also, if I were writing Kiyi, I'd just say fuck it & make her Ozai's kid. That's a thousand times more interesting.

[venacoeurva]

Multiple people suggested Teldryn for a pinup and after trial and error of like 3 different poses, so here he is havin a summer evening to himself—conveniently placed sujamma bottle included🍹

-Please do not reupload, edit, or use without proper credit or linking back. Ask first, please.-

[cowboy-robooty]

this is a dorohedoro moment (redraw of a sketch i never poasted lawl)

[valeriesrevenge]

How come that you’re anti psychiatry?

The history of psychiatry is one of extreme misogyny, a legacy which continues today. Lobotomies, hysteria “treatments”, over-medication (a-la 1950s housewives), experimental medications and other horrific abuses to women and the mentally ill have taken place in the name of psychiatry.

Even today, psychiatry is heavily influenced by popular culture and “trends”, which cannot be said for regular medicine. This leads to waves of over-diagnosing and medicating those who don’t need medication. It leads to the warping of medical diagnosis (hence a completely new DSM every few decades with everything changed), which is not a strong foundation for a medical science. In fact, much of it, in my experience, can be seen as a pseudoscience with MUCH human experimentation.

I don’t disagree that people with severe mental illnesses, perhaps those who experience hallucinations/manic episodes can possibly benefit from medication. I won’t speak for them. But in my own experience, psychiatrists and even untrained MDs are FAR too willing to hand out serious diagnoses without hardly any consultation with the patient. Sometimes within 10min of meeting them, which has happened to me.

And so women are trusting these diagnoses and medicating and pathologizing every thought and action as part of an illness. Many women I know have gone through a difficult, high-stress period in their lives and been given a diagnosis of Clinical Depression or Generalized Anxiety or BPD (this is the big one now) or Bipolar 2 or, slightly less likely, ADHD. Some of the medications for these conditions are HARSH and can cause serious side effects, yet the psychiatrists will hand them out incredibly quickly.

I can’t support this industry that profits off women already struggling in life and treats women and mentally disabled people so flippantly. And therefore I am anti-psychiatry or at the very least, highly critical of the field as a whole.

[nopes-and-dreams-and-nightmares]

Draw your OTP like this

[it-happened-one-fic]

Ink and Magic - The Rose-Red Tyrant

Author Notes: So this is a sort of halfway non canon compliant what if with the overblots and their aftermath. I've been considering, for quite some time now, why the Prefect (reader) gets to see what amounts to the overblot victims memories and hear what seems to be their thoughts regarding said memories. So I guess you could say this is a kind of headcanon for what happens in those moments. This isn't exactly romantic. in fact, I would say it counts as more platonic, but it certainly can be taken as shippy. This will also be a series, though the Diasomnia section won't come out until that entire matter is resolved in game. As per usual, reader is gender-neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Spoilers for Book 1: The Rose-Red Tyrant!!

[Heartslabyul: You're Here!] [Savanaclaw] [Octavinelle] [Scarabia] [Pomefiore] [Ignihyde] [Diasomnia: To be released]

Type: Gender-neutral reader/ fic series/ Can be platonic or romantic/ fluff/ angst/ comfort/ Spoilers for Heartslabul overblot.

Word Count: 2311

The ground was a brutal red. Covered in crushed and bruised rose petals that mixed with dark ink and made everything slippery. 

All I could hear were the screams and shouts from those nearby, but rather than fleeing or continuing to shout directions and warnings until my voice was hoarse, I stood silently. Watching in quiet horror as Riddle stumbled, reeling from the magical attacks he’d just received from his fellow dorm-mates. 

His once soft gray eyes were a violent red and wide open as he stared at me with an expression that spoke of shock. Like his entire world had just come crashing down like a house of cards around him.

He was no longer a form of horror, as the monstrosity behind him collapsed in a flood of ink that spread across the already-soaked ground. 

Instead, Riddle now looked pitiful. Like a lost child. He was trembling all over, but he’d at long last stopped attacking, and I honestly wondered if he’d simply run out of steam.

But as I looked at him, an unexpected sorrow swelled within my heart and caught me off-guard as the young man looked down at his hands, still blackened with ink stains.

Bitter tears began to fill his red eyes, and his previously loud voice wavered as he began to speak, “I…. I was wrong?! But that’s…. Impossible…..” 

His hands came up to cover his eyes and hide the tears that now threatened to roll down his too-pale face.

 He was no longer a creature perfectly fit for nightmares, and my heart seized painfully at his next words. So soft and broken that they were barely audible, “Isn’t it…Mother?”

 With those words, he gave a shudder and stumbled forward, his hands limply falling away from his face, which was now streaked with ink from his stained hands.

This was a Riddle I’d never seen before. One that was completely different from the mature but tyrannical young man I’d met.

 This was a young boy who was lost, broken, and one that I simply couldn’t abandon in this moment.

I didn’t know if it was instinct or something else, but something drove me forwards. Spurring me into running towards the young man, who had begun to collapse forward. 

My feet slid against the inky but tattered rose petals that littered the ground. Evidence of the horror we’d all just witnessed. The other students' voices followed me as they let out alarmed cries. Ace’s voice was perhaps the most prominent as he shouted my name. 

The panic in his voice almost made me want to stop even as my tired legs continued to carry me forward.

In truth, I had only one thought in my mind: that the young man in front of me, Riddle, didn’t need to be alone. 

It was a truth that was whispered to me from within my own mind. Something I knew as a solid fact even though I had no proof.

I barely even knew Riddle. All I knew of him was tyranny.

But I held out my arms, catching the small young man that I now realized was quite frail despite the immense magical power he possessed.

 He clung desperately to my shirt with trembling hands, and a sob tore its way out of him. I could practically feel the cold ink staining my shirt as it seeped through the thin fabric, and we both sank to the ground. 

He was exhausted, with his head drooping towards me like he could no longer stay awake. And as my knees hit the soggy ground, a wave of fatigue washed over me that promised me peace if I would just let it carry me away. 

I faintly heard my name get called yet again, but it sounded far enough away to be in an entirely other world.

Perhaps it was a voice from my world, trying to call me back home.

But even with that thought in mind, I didn’t respond. Instead, I fell into a darkness that consumed me, and I slumped forward. Still holding the small, broken boy close to me. As if that could bring him the peace he seemed to so desperately need.

But I wasn’t meant to slumber peacefully here, and though the deep darkness of what I thought was deep sleep surrounded me, I was not truly resting.

I looked around in confusion, looking for someone else in this deep darkness. After all, it didn’t feel like I was alone. It felt like I was surrounded in a space that was filled with only myself and one other person.

 It was a strange sensation, one that left me feeling out of my depth as I glanced around in confusion. Finding that here, I was no longer exhausted or sore from the events that had just unfolded in Heartslabyul. 

Like a glitch on a television screen, the blackness flickered, and a hazy scene appeared. That reminded me of an old black-and-white movie recording. 

Even the voices were crackly.

“Happy 8th Birthday Riddle….” I frowned slightly and shook my head, wondering what I was seeing. 

I had to be dreaming, but…. Something about this didn’t feel like a dream. It felt more like I was trying to sift through my memories and was instead being faced with wholly unfamiliar images. 

A large woman stood, smiling down at an adorable red-haired boy whose face I immediately recognized with an alarmed jolt. 

Riddle. Without a doubt, that was the very same young man who’d just attacked me, my friends, and the other members of the Heartslabyul dorm in the midst of what I could only describe as a psychotic break.

I stared in a strange mixture of fascination and confusion at the scene before me as a voice that, unlike the others, was perfectly clear began to narrate the scene that lay before me. Riddle’s voice.

It sounded like he was right next to me, but when I turned, he was nowhere to be seen. Instead, I appeared to be alone. 

Alone, but I was wholly surrounded by the scene of what seemed to be his, Riddle’s, childhood.

 “I’d always wanted to try one of those tarts with the bright red strawberries….”

His voice was as solemn as ever as it calmly explained the thoughts and feelings of the child Riddle, who seemed to star in all of these scenes. But the image before me did not stay peaceful, and I soon came to realize a darker truth about what was unfolding in front of me.

I listened and watched with mounting horror as memories from Riddle’s childhood, barren of playing and fun, played in front of me like a film. Every bit of it was narrated by a numb-sounding Riddle himself.

My eyes went wide as a young, brightly smiling Trey flashed in front of me. He was accompanied by another boy, whom I soon realized was that cat-like fellow I’d met in the Heartslabyul maze. Chenya, I believed his name was.

It was then, right after their appearance, that everything truly began to snowball out of control. 

Tiny Riddle finally got to experience the joys of childhood, only to be caught by his mother, who enforced even more rigorous rules on him. And it was painful to see the small child, who would someday become the young man I’d met not too long ago, weep as he was denied some of the most basic aspects of childhood.

I was beyond enraged on behalf of the small child in front of me. But what made it worse was Riddle’s voice, which was still narrating each scene even though tears were slowly beginning to choke off his voice, “But Mom… Why? Why does my heart hurt so much?”

I covered my mouth, as if that could somehow help me cope, as I listened to the young man whom I could hear crying, but I couldn’t see nor comfort.

The scene in front of me slowly faded to black, leaving me only with Riddle’s voice, begging for an explanation as I turned, searching for him in vain. But he was invisible, in this darkness, as he pleaded for an answer to his questions, “Tell me, Mom, please….. What rule do I need to follow to make this pain go away?”

I closed my eyes, shaking my head as if that could somehow help me figure out what to do, and then, like flipping a switch, it all stopped.

I opened my eyes wearily, only to find I’d been crying silently as I‘d held Riddle close to my chest. My cheeks were even still wet, judging from how cold the breeze was on my face.

Riddle himself was still asleep. His expression slowly relaxed from an upset that matched his tear-choked voice, which I’d just been listening to, to a more peaceful one that suited him far better. 

And it was a relief to see him relax after having seen what I’d just witnessed in whatever that dream was.

 One of his hands was still fisted in my shirt as he clung to me like a small child, causing me to smile slightly even as I shifted to better examine him. I froze mid-motion as I heard a sharp inhale from just next to me. It was then that I realized that both me and Riddle were not, in fact, being supported by one another.

Instead, it was the young man who knelt next to us who held us upright with his arms wrapped securely around the two of us in a sort of embrace.

I looked over and made eye contact with warm, honey-colored eyes that stared at me, relief sweeping through them as I managed to croak out the man’s name, “Trey.”

He let out an exhale, a relieved smile appearing on his face as his grip on my arm tightened ever so slightly, almost like he was trying to reassure himself that I really was present and that all was well.

“Thank goodness. You’re back,” His voice was soft, more of a breath than anything, and I couldn’t help but wonder what he meant by ‘back’. 

But I didn’t get to ask, and he didn’t get to continue since I heard three familiar voices both yell the same name at the same time.

“Y/N!” 

I half turned, finding I was still exhausted and slumping against Trey a bit more as I spotted Ace and Deuce both staring at me in wide-eyed relief before they both took off as Cater, who was right behind them, was still turning to look at me. 

The two boys' feet dug into the still-inky ground as they darted towards where I knelt with Trey and Riddle. 

Deuce reached us first, hitting his knees and grasping my arms as he scanned me for injury, “Are you alright?”

His voice was trembling as he questioned me, looking up at me with wide, panicked eyes. His expression was mirrored by Ace, who was desperately asking me what had happened while Cater appeared behind them. Carefully scanning both me and Riddle.

“Hey, hey. You’re crowding them. They only just came too,” Trey’s grip on me shifted in an almost protective fashion as he spoke, and I realized I was still relying heavily on him for support.

Crowley walked up far more slowly than the others, his eyes on me and a frown on his face as he began to open his mouth to say something. 

But before he could speak, one of Riddle’s hands, which had been gripping my arm this entire time, tightened slightly, and he made a mumbling sound.

All eyes darted to the young man, who slowly opened his eyes, once more a soft grey not unlike that of a dove’s feathers, with a groan. 

He looked up, making eye contact with me before looking at Trey and then back at me. 

Cater was saying something to both of us, but I'd tuned it out almost completely as I scanned the boy for any injuries. 

Riddle continued to look up at me with hazy eyes as I carefully scanned his small form, frowning as I noted exactly how exhausted he still looked. 

After a brief moment, though, he pulled away from both me and Trey. Distancing himself as his eyes slowly cleared and the gravity of the entire situation sank in.

From there, the situation devolved fairly quickly, with numerous questions being asked and reconciliations being made. Trey swept in towards the end of things, with Cater by his side like two concerned parents. Demanding that me and Riddle both go to the infirmary for a checkup.

It wasn’t until we were alone in that cold room filled with cots that Riddle made eye contact with me once more, “My… memories. You saw them, didn’t you?”

I was silent for a moment as I recalled those strange scenes in flickering black-and-white before I at last nodded, “Yes, I don’t know what caused it but…. Yes, I believe I did…. I heard you too.”

He nodded, falling silent as we waited for the nurse to enter and give us a clean bill of health. After a few moments, he met my gaze again, “I think we…. Connected for a moment there. I don’t know how, but you saw my memories and heard my thoughts. And I… I felt you there.”

I watched him quietly, not sure of what to say as he fell silent. But I couldn’t blame him. I too wouldn’t know what to say or think if some had seen my memories.

After a moment, though, he looked over at me with a troubled expression before he spoke  quietly, “If I were you, I would tell the Headmaster about this.”

I nodded, unsure of what to say since something told me neither of us knew what this meant for me or him.

[skalidra]

Non-Compliant? Also what do the numbers mean?

The numbers are chapter numbers! So, 'Non-Compliant - 4' is chapter 4 of the story, and so on.

And speaking of, Non-Compliant is a Detroit: Become Human, Reed900 story that I have, featuring enemies to lovers and heavy, dubcon-ish BDSM on all sides, in an androids-rule-the-world AU. Currently at three chapters, and I'm working on the fourth.

This one is shaping up to be a mostly talking-and-development chapter, as opposed to a sex-times chapter, but it's also getting back into Nines' head and I really enjoy writing in Nines' head, even if he can be a challenge. He's a delightful passive aggressive (and sometimes just straight-out aggressive) asshole.

Snippet:

There's no one in the hallway outside Connor's apartment. No immediately audible sound from within, though he wouldn't expect there to be much, given the soundproofing on both their floors. Nothing to indicate whether his brother is home. Connor doesn't answer the first press to his doorbell. Or the second. Or the third. RK900 narrows his eyes at the little button. It doesn't require even a pound of pressure to depress the little circle, and hold, and hold. The door yanks open. "I require a conversation with your pet," RK900 demands, stepping forward to push past Connor. The closing of the door is a familiar click, behind him. "Brother," Connor says, tone rather tightly controlled. "I was busy." "I noticed." Lack of a shirt. Mussed hair. A scent that's easy to identify, with an obvious human source. (Connor may not sweat, but his human does.) "You've destroyed the sanctity of my apartment; I don't see a reason I should respect yours."

(Post for the WIP Ask Game is here.)

[monaisme]

One Week Later - Chapter 13

This is the sequel to my one shot, “The Battle,” which can be found here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30027636

As it’s been a while, you can also find the rest of this story here... if you’d like to refresh your memory:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30168360

Enjoy!

Chapter Thirteen

“Morgan, please! Get back here before you wake everyone up.”

Peter recognized that whisper-hiss anywhere. “Happy?” He squinted to open his eyes and shifted his attention, bleary-eyed, toward the door, only to see a frantic Happy crouching down and trying to coax something out from under his bed. “Wha’s goin’ on?”

Hearing Peter, Happy popped up to standing and stared blankly at the boy in the bed. “Peter?” He opened his mouth to speak when the answer was interrupted by a muffled giggle coming from under his bed. “Oh, crap, Peter. I am so sorry for waking you up.“ Happy apologized, still trying to be quiet as he hesitantly stepped toward the bed. “I asked FRIDAY to take us to Pepper, thinking she’d be in the penthouse but the doors opened up here and she was off like a shot before I could...”

Another giggle, not so muffled this time, burst from whoever was under the bed.

“Wait... wha—who was shot? I don’t—“ Still sleep drunk, Peter tried to focus on what Happy was actually saying. He turned to check on his mentor and wife cuddled together and sleeping soundly on the bed beside him, blissfully unaware of anything. “Mr. Stark...?” He could hear each of their heartbeats, knew them but then heard something more. Peter looked back at Happy again. “Wha’ the...?”

The confusion on Peter’s face was clear and Happy rushed to fix it. “Crap, No kid, I was talking about Morgan!”

The few disjointed words that Peter had managed to pull together had him leaping up and out of bed. “MORGAN’S BEEN SHOT?!” Peter swayed where he stood as he shouted out in distress. He hadn’t even met her yet and she was already gone—

Mr. and Mrs. Stark woke up to pandemonium. “Wha’? Happy? What’s goin’ on?” Mr. Stark released the loving hold he had on his wife and sat himself on the edge of his own bed, voicing his own confusion as he scrubbed his hand over his beard.

“Nothing’s going on!” Happy promised his boss and friend as he reached out to steady the boy. “And geez, kid, no. Listen to me, everyone is fine. No one’s been shot.” He watched carefully as Peter steadied. “Now, can I please help you get back in the bed before you give me or Tony over there a heart attack?”

Peter paled and swayed again, but not for the reason Happy thought. The memories of yesterday still too close to the surface to be so casual about something like Mr. Stark’s health, not that Happy knew it. “Yeah, sure... thanks,” he whispered and allowed himself to be manhandled back into the bed. That it seemed as though Happy was tucking him in? Super weird. Peter could barely fathom that this was the same gruff head of security that he’d known before. He’d need to process that later, but being able to lay down once more as he tried to figure out just what the last minute had meant was a definite help.

Happy pulled Peter’s blankets up over his shoulders and patted them flat. “There you go, Pete... all better?”

Yup. This was definitely an evolved Happy. Peter nodded.

“Good, now...” Happy stepped back and crouched down, disappearing from Peter’s view.

“Huh? Happy?” Peter sat back up again and moved to look over the edge of his bed, needing to know what Happy was so focused on.

But of course, by now, both Starks were out of bed and completely in the loop regarding whatever the heck was going on. Mr. Stark was at his bedside and pressing him gently back to the mattress as Mrs. Stark came around to where Happy had been and dropped from sight, too. “Relax, kiddo,” Mr. Stark assured him. “Everyone is safe, no one’s been hurt. It seems, however, that a certain monkey has escaped from the circus...” He glanced down at the floor, grinning.

Mr. Stark’s goofy smirk as he said that confused Peter all the more. “Monkey? There’s a monkey under my bed?” Peter rubbed at his eyes, trying to wake himself up. Nothing was making sense and—

The giggle Peter had only been tangentially aware of earlier suddenly turned into a squeal of delight and Mrs. Stark seemed to magically appear beside her husband with arms full of a dark, curly-haired, purple ruffled, blue legged, yellow rubber booted, mass of—“Morgan H. Stark. You can’t run away from Uncle Happy like that, especially on the med bay floor.” Mrs. Stark lovingly yet firmly chastised the little girl, who decided now was the time to play bashful as she tucked her face into her mother’s neck. “What if you’d woken up Aunt May? And look.” She gave the little girl a nudge, “You definitely woke up poor Peter and gave him an awful fright.”  

A small gasp escaped from her and then, “Petey?” The little girl whispered as she snuck a peek at the boy in the bed through the safety of her mother’s hair. She pulled back from her mother after she’d finished with her obvious analysis, and looked up to her for some sort of confirmation. “Mommy? Is that really Petey?”

She planted a kiss on Morgan’s forehead, tearing up slightly as she nodded, “Yes, sweetheart. That’s him.”

She glanced over to Peter again, and he watched as something seemed to click on her little face. “Daddy, did Petey do something hairy-rained again?” She looked over to her father.

“Hairy-rained?” Mr. Stark looked as confused as Peter felt.

“Yeah, you said Petey did hairy-rained things to end up in the med bay all the time, but his hair is dry but he’s here in the bed, so?”

“I don’t know what—“ Mr. Stark cut himself off, then quickly attempted to cover his mouth before he laughed at whatever Peter was missing. “Morgan, I think you meant harebrained... and no, you silly. That’s not what it means and that’s not what this was.” He smiled as he put his hands out to take her in his arms then propped her up on his hip. “Peter has a booboo that needs special medicine so he’s got to stay here for a little bit. That’s all.” Mr. Stark definitely downplayed the whole scenario for Peter’s benefit. “But—“ he hoisted the girl up to steady her, then turned back to Peter , all while ignoring the frown on his wife’s face. “Since you’re already here, would you like to meet him properly?”

Morgan’s head bobbed up and down with an excitement only a child could possess while Peter, shocked at the eagerness he suddenly felt at the prospect, propped himself up on his elbows.

“Oh, no, you don’t, kid. Let me.” Mr. Stark placed his daughter down at the foot of the bed with a look that definitely told her to stay put, and within seconds a controller was in his hand and its back raised with Peter more comfortably propped up. “Now, is that better?”

Peter nodded as he pulled the blanket down off his upper body to free up his arms. “Yeah, thanks,” he smiled tentatively and pulled in a deep breath. He ignored the improved-from-yesterday aches and twinges from his ribs and thigh as he shifted to get a bit more comfortable.

“Good, because you need to brace yourself for the chaos that is the one... the only Morgan H. Stark!” Mr. Stark threw out some pretty epic jazz hands and then cupped his hands around his mouth, pretending he could simulate a crowd gone wild... ish.

Peter and Morgan made eye contact, and then, if Peter had any doubt that Morgan had any part of Mrs. Stark in her, she rolled her eyes and groaned. “Daddy. You’re bein’ weird again.”

Happy snorted, but said nothing.

“You, hush,” Mr. Stark pointed accusingly at his friend. “I still have those pictures from the last time Morgan gave you a pedicure and access to literally every web server on the planet.”

Happy scowled. “That’s low, Tony. Even for you.”

“Oh, you have no idea how low I can go, Harold.” Mr. Stark’s eyes narrowed at the challenge. “Keep it up and a little chat with Quill will have those pics going galactic.”

“Ugh, Daaaaaad-dy!” Morgan rolled her eyes again as she interrupted the grownups. “Stop being mean to Uncle Happy. You still need to tell me that he’s Peter and tell him that I’m Morgan so we can be for real inner-duced!” She gestured over to Peter, who was just trying to keep up with the alternate reality he must have dropped into.

But Mr. Stark faux-sobered and turned his attention to his daughter. “I am so sorry, Little Miss. You’re right. I am being most rude.” He cleared his throat. “Ms. Morgan, please allow me to introduce you to Mr. Peter Benjamin Parker.”

That apparently was all the little girl had been waiting for. “Finally!” she exclaimed, and in a flash, she was gone from her perch by Peter’s knee and throwing herself across his chest and squeezing him for all she’s was worth. “I’m so happy to meet you, Petey! I can’t wait until your better so we can play with my legos, ‘cuz Daddy says you like legos, too—and then we can play pretend and you can be the prince I can be the dragon, ‘cuz princesses are stupid, even though I’m not allowed to say stupid, but they are—and – and – and—

Peter heard nothing of Morgan’s plans as the ringing in his ears and the whitening of his vision coincided with the first knee planting directly over top the line of stitches along his thigh. That the shock of pain was compounded by the herculean rib squeeze of a four year old girl kept him from noticing Mr. Stark’s exclaimed, “Morgan, NO!”

He barely noticed the tiny weight being lifted off his body as he fought back a cry, just inhaled sharp, curled in on himself and rocked as his body try to come back online.

“Easy, Peter. Let it go, bud. You’ve got this,” a voice instructed as someone took a firm hold of his hand.

He couldn’t squeeze back, not with his strength, but he hummed in acknowledgement and released his breath as the peak of pain receded, faster than yesterday, thank goodness for small miracles.

“That’s right. Nice and easy. It’s okay,” the voice... Mr. Stark encouraged.

And after a few more breaths, it was ... sort of. Peter was able to pull up and out of his curl... sort of, and straighten his still stinging leg back to flat on the bed... sort of.

“There you go, Peter.” Mr. Stark leaned towards him and pressed a kiss to his hair. “Good job.”

Peter huffed out a laugh and allowed himself to fully recline into the bed. “Yeah, such a good job.” He pulled in a deeper breath. “My one real skill... what’s the going hourly for not vomiting all over yourself?”

Mr. Stark stepped back and glared. “Hey. There will be no self-sassin’ from you, young man. Now,” Mr. Stark’s face softened and rubbed Peter’s arm in comfort. “Are you really okay? I know that Morgan’s going to be so—“

Morgan?! ”Shit! I mean- Shoot! Morgan!” Peter exclaimed then scanned the room for her. Seeing her, Mrs. Stark and Happy, gone, Peter panicked. “Oh, no! Did I scare her? She just surprised me is all—I’m so sorry— did she—“

Mr. Stark sighed and cut him off. “Hey, Peter—enough.” He squeezed Peter’s arm, having figured that it was one of the better ways to ground him. “She’s fine. Pepper and Happy just took her out to give you a minute to pull yourself together without an audience... and to have a chat about proper behaviour in the med bay.” He glanced once toward the door then focussed back on Peter. “Now answer the question. Are you okay? Morgan landed pretty hard there and after last night...”

Peter worried his lip as he, too, glanced at the door, wondering if he could’ve messed up his first meeting with his—the Stark’s daughter any more. “I’m fine,” he said half-convincingly.

“Then you won’t mind if I take a quick peek at your stitches?”

“Peek?” The question caught Peter off guard. “Why would you want to—“

“Take a look and see if I need to call in the nurse on duty to make sure you’re not haemorrhaging to death while you worry over a four year old girl with plans for world domination? Yeah. Why would I want to do that?” Mr. Stark playfully cuffed the back of Peter’s head. “Look, humour an old man. Let me check and then we can pretend this didn’t happen... or not. Okay?”

Peter rolled his eyes and tossed back his blanket to reveal his leg before crossing his arms in defiance. “Fine, but I already said that I’m—”

“Fine. Yes, geez! Everyone is fine. I hear you, kiddo, but you’ll have to forgive me for not believing a certain someone who is notorious for underplaying just about anything related to your physical wellbeing.”

“Pfft—one time...” Peter grumped as he watched Mr. Stark push back the gauze tape and then lift a corner of the pad.

Mr. Stark didn’t bother to contain his mirth at Peter’s petulance, stopping what he was doing to call him out. “It has been many, many times, you fibby-liar. My own personal favourite ‘I’m fine’ moment is still that time with that gunshot wound to the leg you were trying to cauterize with a soup spoon and a birthday candle. If memory serves, you insisted you were actually ‘super-fine’ that time.”

Peter flushed in embarrassment and said nothing. He knew he wasn’t going to win this one.

Mr. Stark’s grin proved that he knew it, too. “I’m sure if I think for a minute, I could tell you what May’s and Happy’s favourites are, too. In fact—“

“Okay, I’ve got it!” Peter threw his hands up in frustration, much to Mr. Stark’s delight. “Can you please just tell me what the damage is so you can leave me in peace to die of utter humiliation?”

Peter barely dodged Mr. Stark’s hair ruffling attempt. “Geez—and they say I’m a drama queen. Alright, then, let’s get this party started.” Refocusing, Mr. Stark pulled the wrapped gauze back then cautiously lifted a corner of cotton pad protecting his wound, “Aaaaaand—it looks like your toast and a shake helped you out just enough to save the day!” Mr. Stark smiled and pulled the covering back a little more so Peter could see for himself. “It’s not perfect, but if I were to wager a guess, these stitches may even be able to come out.”

“REALLY!?” Peter had closed his eyes, not wanting to look, sure that his Parker Luck would come into play and his thigh would be a mess of gore and popped stitches, but sure enough—“Holy cow!” Peter shifted to take a look. It wasn’t perfect, that was clear, but the harsh pink line was. Peter wasn’t going to acknowledge that it still looked a little puffy. “Do you think Dr. Cho will let me go upstairs now? It’s practically all closed now, so...”  

Mr. Stark’s face softened at his eagerness. “You know it wasn’t just the stitches, Peter, but it’s a start.” He patted the mattress by Peter’s leg and stepped back. “How’s about you see about consuming that shake you still have stashed there,” he pointed to the head of Peter’s bed, “while I go grab someone to come and take care of the leg. Sound good?”

Peter nodded, trying to keep the disappointment off of his face, which must have worked.

Mr. Stark grinned and patted his hand. “Awesome. I’ll be back in a flash.” With a wink, Mr. Stark headed out of the room and was on the hunt for whoever was staffing the floor that day.

Peter counted to ten in his head and then sighed. He was exhausted, and every little thing was compounding it—the stressful wake up call, his botched introduction to Morgan—even his brief interaction with Mr. Stark seemed to be taking a toll.

He pulled in a deeper breath than he could yesterday, thank goodness, and closed his eyes. If he could rest for a minute or two, he could try to tackle the whole shake thing and hopefully not barf all over himself—last night had been a near thing so...

Yeah, he wouldn’t think about last night—or yesterday—or the day before, or May or any of it. He just needed to quiet his mind. Please be quiet, and then he could pretend that—

It was barely a minute later that tiny footfalls approached the room, then stopped at its entrance. “Petey?” A little voice whispered. “Are you asleep or pretendin’?”

Not able to help it, he smiled a little and lolled his head toward the doorway as he opened his eyes. “Not asleep... and not pretending. Just trying, is all.”

She squirmed a bit as she stood there, nervous fingers twisting the hem of the pink Batman t-shirt Peter hadn’t specifically noticed the first time he’d seen her.

“Morgan? Are you alright?” Peter asked.

She came further into the room. “Oh. Yeah.” Morgan nodded. “But, ummm... I jus’ wanna say I’m sorry. Mommy says just ‘cuz I’m ‘cited doesn’t mean I shouldn’ be careful, an’ I wasn’ so I’m really sorry for jumpin’ on you and hurtin’ your leg.” She gnawed at her bottom lip, and then pondered deeply for a beat more before adding, “Yeah. Tha’s it.” With that declaration, Morgan came up to his bedside, put her hands up in the air and stared imploringly at Peter, still sitting in the bed.

And then she kept them there.

“Um?” Peter was growing more confused by the second and finally had to ask, “What are you doing?”

Morgan wiggled her little body in anticipation then smiled before answering. “I’m waiting for my hug, is all.”

“Hug?” Had he missed a step somewhere? “Why?”

Once more, Morgan rolled her eyes, “You’re so silly, Petey. It’s the ‘I forgive you’ part!” Yup, she was definitely Mrs. Stark’s daughter. “Daddy says that’s how you know you mean it... but Daddy also says it’s the best part ‘cuz I give the best hugs, too, so you gotta’.” She did a little dance, arms still up and then stopped. A spark of realization came to her and her brow furrowed as she contemplated. “But you’re still hurt so you can’t so...” Her arms dropped, and with an agility only a four year old could pull off, Morgan scampered up the side of the bed and plopped down on the mattress beside Peter, kicking off her cumbersome boots as she went. “There,” she declared as she then shifted and got up onto her knees, facing Peter with anticipation. “If I promise t’ be careful, can I give you a hug that won’ hurt your booboos?”

Peter couldn’t imagine that anyone could ever say no to Morgan Stark—not with those big, expressive brown eyes, so much like her dad’s— and after the last couple of days, nothing sounded better, so he nodded dumbly, moved some of the extra length of IV tubing out of the way and then opened his arms up to receive the most gentle hug he’d ever received in his life.

“Is this okay, Petey?” Morgan asked softly. “’m not hurtin’ you?”

Peter shook his head ‘no’ as his eyes watered and gave her a light squeeze back. “Nope. I’m good, Morgan. Thanks for the hug.”

“Y’er welcome.” He could hear the smile in her voice, then she hummed. “You give good hugs, Petey.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “Daddy always said he bet you’d give the best hugs, too.”

Peter blinked as he processed her words, hastily brushing away the tear that fell. “He said that?”

“M-hm.” She nodded into his shoulder. “An’ he said when you came back, he’d give you a million hugs an’ eat gross pineapple pizza with you an’ watch Star Wars with you an’—” Morgan’s... Mr. Stark’s to-do list was interrupted by a huge yawn and then Morgan’s focus shifted. “Can I watch Star Wars with you, too?” she asked. “Daddy says it migh’ be too scary for me still but if you’re there maybe he’ll say yes?” She lifted her head to see his response, blinking sleepily as she waited for it.

And Peter was a goner.

“Sure, Morgan. I’ll talk to your dad and we’ll watch it together—maybe when I come back upstairs?”

Getting enough of a reassurance that she’d get her way eventually, Morgan smiled, giggled, and pulled away, but now only so she could snuggle herself into the crook of Peter’s arm. “Yay! This is gonna be awwwwe-some—“ Her words stretched with another, bigger yawn. “Big brothers are so cool.”

Peter choked. “What?” He floundered as he tried to find the right words. He knew what the Starks had said last night, no part of him thought that they’d actually meant it! But Morgan had said it... and meant it with every fibre of her four year old being.  

Peter Parker was a big brother.

Morgan seemed clueless to Peter’s newest crisis and was on to another tangent in a blink. “Did you know that I when I woke up this mornin’, the sun wasn’t even out yet? An’ I couldn’ even see the trees! But I was so super e’cited so I got dressed all by myself an’ then I begged and begged...” Morgan’s next yawn was wider yet. “But Uncle Happy loves me so we got to come now.” Her tiny fists rubbed at tired eyes.

Peter was trying to pull it together and not fixate on what had just tumbled so innocently out of Morgan’s mouth. He’d need to come back to this later, but for now Peter moved onto the one thing he thought he could maybe manage.  “Uh, are you sleepy, Morgan?” He shifted carefully so he could see more of her. “Did you want to nap a little?

She contemplated for a few moments, but then nodded. “Uh-huh, but you can’ tell Uncle Happy ‘cuz he’ll say he tol’ me so...’”

Which brought Peter to a new concern— “Wait a sec’. Morgan? Where exactly is Happy?” Peter glanced at the door, wondering if he should be worried that no one had come looking for her.

Morgan shifted, getting more comfortable. “The grownups were talkin’ by the desk. ‘cuz they were waitin’ for the nurse but they were bein’ sooo boring already so I came back here to visit you.”

Peter sighed. “But did you tell anyone you were coming in? They might be worried about you, you know.” He wondered how long he had before the three adults came barrelling into the room looking for her.

“Nu-uh,” Morgan rubbed her eyes. “Ms. FRIDAY?” Morgan called out into the room. “Can you please tell Mommy and Daddy that I’m with my brother?”

There was that word again. Peter’s heart jumped. He’d heard what Mr. and Mrs. Stark had said, but to hear it tumble so easily...

“I will send that message along, Little Boss,” FRIDAY interrupted his thoughts and Peter could hear the message being immediately relayed in the hallway. No one came rushing back into the room though, so at least that wasn’t a concern for the moment.

Morgan wriggled again, no spot seeming to be quite right for her.  

Peter guessed he could fix that so he asked, “Would you like me to make the bed a little more flat, Morgan?”

“Yes, please,” she said then moved away from Peter as he grabbed at the bed controller to lower the back of the bed.

Peter smiled softly as Morgan whispered a, “wheeee...” and then reached down to pull Peter’s blankets up and over her shoulders, her blanketed silhouette looking rather odd for the bunching of ruffles making their presence known. “Thank you,” she said softly, and closed her eyes.

Peter waited a couple of minutes, not quite sure what to do with himself. She’d snuggled up to him almost immediately, then rolled over trying to find a comfier spot, which meant what? Peter could only assume that he’d served his purpose so, using his spidey-stealth, Peter slid out of the bed. Assured that she hadn’t been disturbed, he straightened the blankets just a little so Morgan would be comfier and then gently lowered himself in the chair stationed between his and Mr. Stark’s bed.  

Morgan, already almost asleep, mumbled, “Mmm-‘ove you, Petey. G’night,” and drifted off completely.

What the—? Had she just—? Did she say—? Peter blinked as his brain tried to process what exactly had just happened in the last few minutes.

“Well, kid,” Mr. Stark startled Peter as he spoke softly from the doorway, “Either you’ve been hit by a bus or you’ve officially been whammied by our Little Miss. And seeing as you are upright and not sporting any tire tracks, I’ll assume it was the latter.”

Caught off guard, Peter jumped in his seat, “Geez!” Peter whisper-yelled as he clutched at his chest and glared at the man. “Give a guy some warning!”

Mr. Stark just chuckled and stepped into the room. “I’ve been watching you now for a good few minutes, Peter. I’m pretty sure you weren’t going to notice anything save a wrecking ball coming through the wall. Now,” Mr. Stark gave the room a quick glance. ‘I’d say you shouldn’t be out of bed until one of the staff gets in here to check things out but...” He gestured with a nod toward the tiny figure in the bed. “Been there, done that, totally get it.” Mr. Stark did take another second to assess. “The IV isn’t pulling or anything?”

Peter waved his IV’d hand casually through the air. “Nah, it’s all good.” Answering that was easier than trying to figure out how to process the whole Morgan thing.

“Is it?” Mr. Stark crooked an eyebrow.

And Peter knew that he was asking about more than his IV, or even getting kicked out his bed, but he just... couldn’t, so he just shrugged in reply. “I guess?” He couldn’t even

Mr. Stark didn’t say anything at first, only walked to the corner of the room to grab an extra chair and placed it beside Peter. “Do you mind if I sit here?” Mr. Stark asked and then waited expectantly.

Peter stared blankly at him for a moment then asked, “Are you pulling my leg or are you honestly asking me that? I mean, like, you own the building, so... you can literally sit wherever you want,”  

“Yeah, well... as my sainted mother always said, ‘Manners maketh the man,’ and all that jazz.”

“But wasn’t that a quote from that movie with Mark Hamill in it?”

Now Mr. Stark rolled his eyes, “No, smart ass... I mean yes... and it starred Colin Firth, NOT Mark Hamill, by the way. But that’s besides the point. It was a quote used waaaay before the movie made it famous, hence my mom saying it. I’m pretty sure it’s Shakespeare, actually—And you haven’t answered my question yet. Can I sit here or...?” Mr. Stark stood patiently.

Realizing that Mr. Stark wasn’t trying to be funny, Peter nodded quickly and gestured to the chair. “Oh. Yeah, yeah. Of course.”

Mr. Stark’s eyes still looked tired, and crinkled a little more than Peter remembered from before as he smiled and took a seat. “I’m not quite sure why I’m even bothering. Your nurse is dealing with something out there quickly and will be in to check on you in a minute or two. I imagine we’ll get you up into the other bed and let Morgan get her beauty rest.”

“Makes sense, I guess.” Peter agreed then fell quiet for a moment, the mention of the nurse starting his brain cycling through it all again. “But...” he then continued hesitantly, “Everything’s okay with May, right? Nothing else has gone wrong?”

Mr. Stark seemed determined to keep Peter calm. “She’s as okay as she can be,” he assured Peter with a firm hand on his shoulder. “Mornings will be a little busier a little earlier for the next week or so, remember? With the dialysis and antibiotics and such?”

And Peter did. “Yeah, I remember... thanks.” He gnawed on his lip then spoke again. “And you’re feeling okay?”

“Yeah, kid. I’m feeling okay. Honest—This,” Mr. Stark waves his hand in front of his chest, “was way more dramatic than it was damaging. I promise.”

Peter nodded but said nothing.

Stupid brain.

Mr. Stark was okay.

May was okay.

“Oh! You’re breakfast tray will be up soon, by the way.” Mr. Stark piped up. Peter wondered if he knew that Peter was trying not to spiral.

He nodded again. “Cool.”

“And Pepper checked just before I came in... you’re boiled potatoes will be coming up, too, so bonus points for Mr. Devon, am I right?”

Peter half-smiled as he replied with a, “Yup,” though Peter was barely listening at that point.

There was so much to grasp—and it just kept on and on...

“I think he may have actually had his wife bring potatoes from home so he could accommodate. There’s no way he found a grocery store that sells potatoes open this early, am I right? I should probably get her a gift card as a thank you? Seems like the thing to do, yeah?”

“Sure,” Peter said, but his mind had already drifted back to his catalogue of thoughts he was trying not to freak out about all over again—May was okay... Mr. Stark was okay...  

“I thought of promoting Mr. Devon to elephant trainer as a thank you, too.  What do you think? It’ll come with a new uniform and everything.”

“That would be great Mr. Stark.” And Morgan? That had been an insane first meet... and the whole brother thing?

“His bonus would be literal peanuts, but hey...”

“Yeah, sounds good... wait—what?” Peter brought his focus back to the man seated beside him. “What are you talking about?”

Mr. Stark shrugged, “Well, if you were going to be weird, I figured I’d be weird too.”

“I wasn’t being weird,” Peter grumped back, I was just distracted.” The second the word left his mouth, he knew it was a mistake that Mr. Stark could latch onto and...

“Yeah, she is a bit much sometimes, but we love her.”

Peter turned toward Mr. Stark, surprised, yet not to see that his focus was solely on his daughter.

“So was it that she said she loves you that freaked you out, or something else?”

Okay—that was where Mr. Stark’s concern fell. Good. Morgan was confusing, but still the least confusing part of the past few days... well, now that Peter knew about her.

Peter cleared his throat. “She called me her brother.”

Mr. Stark didn’t look away from her, but smiled for Peter nonetheless. “I’m pretty sure we covered this last night, Peter.”

“I mean... not really? I just—“ Peter was shocked to find himself tearing up. “I’m not surprised that she knows about me.  I just didn’t expect her to think of me that way without...”

“Aw, buddy, come here.” Mr. Stark put an arm around him and pulled him close and pressed a firm kiss to his hair before resting his head against Peter’s. “If you think, for one second, that we would not have told your sister about the coolest, smartest, kindest kid we knew, you are sorely mistaken.“

Peter sniffed and shook his head in disbelief.

“Well, believe it or not, it’s the truth. I’m a little worried that we may have played you up too much.” Mr. Stark teased. “She’ll be in for a bit of a shock once she actually gets to know you in all of your teenaged grossness.”

Peter snorted and pushed playfully against his mentor. “No she won’t, ‘cuz I’ll be the best big brother ever, and then you’ll be in for it.”

“And why do you think that? I’ll have you know that Morgan loves me ‘3000’—told me so just a couple of weeks ago, so I am and always will be her obvious favourite.”

Not able to let that lie, Peter countered, “She hasn’t had a chance to climb a wall with me yet. You know that’ll be a game changer.”

“If I buy her an alpaca...” Mr. Stark thought he’d gained the upper hand.

“Do you really think Mrs. Stark is gonna let you buy Morgan an alpaca?”

Mr. Stark deflated beside him. “Crap. You’re right. Darn it.” He sighed heavily. “So what you’re saying is I’m doomed, huh?”

Peter knew exactly how Mr. Stark meant it, but it hurt Peter’s heart nonetheless. How both a sudden hope and hopelessness could battle within him and ruin even this beautiful moment.

Damned Parker Luck was going to come and ruin it all.

Peter shifted and rested his head on Mr. Stark’s shoulder. Here, at least, the man couldn’t see as Peter blinked back another round of tears. “Yeah, Mr. Stark, I’m afraid you are.”

[candyfloss-esophagus]

Guys guys I was just struck by a brutal noirpunk au concept.

So the reason Noir doesn't take his mask off? It has a protective function on it, which stops him from turning everything he touches greyscale (side effect of the spider god thing). It's why he doesn’t take it off outside his dimension. Hobie is the same in the other direction, he turns everything into neon newspaper clippings (side effect of that toxic waste spider what bit him). Except Hobie is better at tamping it down, which is why he only makes the objects he interacts with directly do that and doesn't need anything to help him do it. So Hobie and Noir are dating, they're kicking ass, they're sickeningly in love except... Except Hobie has never seen Noir's whole face. The few times he's asked he's been deflected which yk he respects. Until one day, Noir's mask comes off entirely, either by accident or through brute force and it starts happening, everything is being turned black and white and oh man he's a monster just look at what he's doing curse this fucking eldritch spider being and— and then Hobie’s there brighter and more colourful than ever and they're kissing and the bright lights that Hobie is made up of are sparking up against the black and white ink spillage and Hobie is... not being affected by it? Noir relaxes although he is very confused and he gradually comes to the conclusion that he and Hobie neutralise their respective powers. Boom. Happy endings all round.

[sysboxes]

[Text: This system is gender noncompliant.]

Like/Reblog if you save or use!

[fistfuloflightning]

It was a slip of the tongue, Shen Yuan screamed internally. He’d been thinking of—well, it didn’t matter what he was thinking of! It just slipped out and now Jiu-ge was laughing at him behind his fan and thinking all kinds of awful ways to mock him for those three words.

He risked a glance back up, only to catch Shen Jiu’s fleeting smile before it hid itself again. He closed his fan with a snap before using the end to tip up Shen Yuan’s chin. “Took you long enough,” he murmured. Lips pressed to Shen Yuan’s cheek, dangerously close to the corner of his mouth. “I love you too.”

[intriq]

‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : Scabious

‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

Theme: Angst

Character: Dick Grayson

Word Count: 855

scabious; unfortunate love

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Dick had always been your close friend. Your close best friend. The best friend you fell in love with.

But he didn't feel the same. He loved someone else, not you. He loved Kory. Not you.

Even though he'd rejected you, made it known he only ever thought of you as a friend, you still loved him. Loved him so much that it made your lungs hurt and fill with flowers.

Which is how it lead to now.

Your both on patrol together, like always. Except the only difference being your waning strength as the flowers in your lungs greedily consume you, growing off that suffocating love you've got for Dick Grayson himself.

One particularly nasty cough makes Dick turn to you, worry evident all across that pretty face of his. "You sure you are in any condition to be on patrol tonight?"

"I'm fine, trust me." You reply in return, crumpling those bloody flower petals in the palm of your hand that you'd just coughed up moments before. "Just allergies kickin' my ass."

"C'mon, there's something you aren't telling me here." Dick's gaze locks on your own, even if your gaze is focused on the city below. "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing, Dick. It's just a stupid cough from allergies, I'll be fine in a few weeks." You lie instantly, refusing to meet his gaze.

Dick is almost upset that you insist on lying to him. Did you really think he wouldn't notice the signs? The bloody flower petals that you've been coughing up?

"Do you think I'm an idiot?" Dick's tone is enough to make you flinch. "You think I didn't notice those flowers you've been coughing up?"

"Nothing get's past you, huh?" You weakly laugh, a pained smile on your face before you begin to cough again, more flowers stained a deep red by your blood falling into your waiting palm.

"How long?"

"Few months now, I think."

"There's a way to fix this, right? There has to be. I can't lose you."

Your face scrunches up, contorted into pain. You barely had any time life, really. Very little of it. Sure, it was selfish to keep on loving Dick, even if he was begging for you to keep living. But in order to keep living, you had to get rid of your feelings for him. And you, in all honestly, didn't wish to do so.

Dick doesn't say anything. He can tell from that saddened look on your face that there isn't a whole lot that can be done, a whole lot left to do. That you don't have time to do anything else about it.

So perhaps it's the desperation over the fact he doesn't want to lose his best friend that makes him take your hand and pull you closer and kiss you.

He doesn't quite like you the same way you like him, but it'll do something, right? It has to. Dick doesn't want to accept any other answer for it. He needs it to account for something, to do something.

You pull away almost instantly, violently coughing up more flowers. Because Dick's desperate attempt to fix you, only worsens the problem. And when you can finally breath again after coughing more flowers into your own lap, speckled in crimson, you speak.

"Dick, please. Don't force yourself. Don't force yourself to pretend as if you feel the same way I do. Please."

"I may not love you, but god! You're my family, okay? I care about you. I don't want you to die, especially not because of me!" Dick pleads, holding your hand with both of his at this point. Voice shrill and desperate.

"I know it's selfish but.. God, I can't lose you. You've saved me more times than I can count. I can't lose you. I can't.. Please, please don't leave me alone."

Dick's voice is pitiful, pathetic. Selfish, but pathetic. Weak. And not only that, but he's crying. Sobbing, even. All because you're dying.

"Dick, please. Either way you'd wind up alone and without me. I love you. But not in the way you love me.”

Dick opens his mouth, as if to protest what is you’re saying, but he pauses when you continue to speak.

“You don't love me the way I wish you would. I love you. Not a friends kind of love. You don't love me the way I wish you would."

You're the one who should be crying. You're the one whose dying, after all. But yet here you are, hands reaching up to wipe away Dick's tears instead.

After a bit more back and forth, begging from Dick, your answer stays the same. You refuse to get the surgery, no matter how hard it makes Dick cry over this revelation.

But when weeks pass, and your final day is dawning upon you, Dick is there. Even if he can't stand to watch you die, you deserved someone by your side, at least.

So you die while Dick holds your hand with both of his. You grow cold and limp in his grasp as the final flower in your lungs bloom a beautifully macabre shade of deep, dark crimson.

A flower that blooms as a result of your pitiful and unfortunate affection.

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