I recently learned how to drive. It absolutely terrifies me. Here have this irondad fic reflecting me.
Number 49: Safety first.
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“Safety first.” Tony pulled the seatbelt across Peter’s chest and buckled him in. He could feel the nervous energy wafting off the teenager, so viscerally that Tony himself thought he’d be sick momentarily.
Peter sheepishly raised his hand. “Mr. Stark?”
“What are you, five? What do you want, kid?” Tony turned and buckled himself, praying on all that was good that the buckle protected him from whatever danger came his way.
“No, I just...I uh, just wanted to ask where you wanted me to take you.”
Tony sat back in the passenger’s seat, trying not to show how tightly he was gripping the seat. “Uh, take us to your apartment in Queens.”
Peter nodded and peeled away from the curb, so jerkily and suddenly that they both gasped. Peter slammed the brakes, sweat starting to bead on his forehead. “Sorry! Sorry, I got a little excited.”
“Yeah, no kidding.”
Peter pulled out again, this time much more slowly.
They drove in silence after that, with minimal coaching from Tony.
“Okay, so you see Sam and Steve walking across the street, what do you hit?”
Peter spared a glance at Tony, the car only drifting out of his lane a bit. Peter straightened the car. “Uh, we’ll while Sam seems like the more satisfying option, it would obviously be Mr. Rogers. He’s a super soldier, he can handle it. But if Sam keeps being mean to me, I’ll hit him too for brownie points.”
“Peter,” Tony swallowed unsure if he was going to laugh or combust. “The answer was the ‘brakes.’ You hit the brakes, kid.”
Peter exhaled shakily, slamming on the brakes.
“Whoa! Just...get out. I’ll let your aunt teach you. I have a heart condition.”
I absolutely loved writing this, anon! Tony and baby Peter is everything I ever need so AGH my heart is so happy. Thank you for this, you lovely human. xx
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Peter stared up at Tony from where he sat in his lap. His hazel eyes met Tony’s and he laughed, as only a baby could laugh, a sweet sound unblemished by the hurts of life. His little face glowed and his miniature fingers grasped Tony’s, and held tight.
“Pete, do you get it?” Tony spoke softly to the three month old. Peter stared back, transfixed with wide eyes. He giggled at Tony’s equally awed expression. “Buddy, you’re a piece of software, melded together. Like, fused and turned itself into a living, breathing...uh, steak with a brain. Did you hear that? You’re just meat that grew up inside your mother that grew a brain.” Tony paused. Maybe Peter was a little too young to understand the logistics of a one night stand and how a lack of protection would lead to birth...It was irrelevant. Peter bounced, cooing like coaxing Tony to go on. He did.
“Kid, you’re a wetware android, and now you’re grasping all of this amazing information as you map and model the world; you’re adapting, you’re expanding, you’re slowly emerging as a thinking being. Now, you’re like ‘oh my God, this is what it’s like to be a mind’. You’ve transcended. But you’re also made of flesh, so it’s binding you together here on earth. Isn’t that unreal?”
Sometime during Tony’s small science lecture, Steve entered and took a seat on the arm of the couch. He watched Tony examine Peter with the same amount of awe that Peter gave back as he took life in.
“Stop being so cute,” Steve chuckled.
Tony bounced Peter on his thigh, making the baby giggle with each jostle and bob. “This is an actual piece of divine miracle. Isn’t he precious?”
“I was talking about you, Tony.”
Tony’s cheeks kissed pink as a spring rose, and he lowered his gaze. “I, uh, I knew that.” He scoffed. “You’re pretty cute yourself, Rogers.”
Steve rolled his eyes and slid onto the couch next to Tony. He slipped his finger into Peter’s infinitesimal grasp, watching as Peter immediately stuck it in his mouth. “We’ve been dating for three months and somehow, you’re still on a last name basis.”
Tony laughed, almost sheepishly. “I’m just a piece of software, and,” he rested his fist against his forehead, knocking twice. “My hard drive is a bit broken.”
“I don’t know jack squat about technology, but I definitely knew your software was broken, yeah.” Steve grinned.
Peter squealed loudly then, drawing their attention.
“Even baby Queens knows that I’m right. Isn’t that right, buddy?”
Peter simply grinned a toothless smile and returned to drooling against Steve’s fingers.
HI! Sorry this took 47 years but I had to write this! I hope you enjoy. xx
The worst headache Tony had experienced was after the rager of 2005. He nearly drank himself into oblivion and then woke up, naked, on a roof, two cities over. He still doesn’t know what happened that night. But now he was creeping up on the second worst headache of his life. It would be written in his autobiography (creatively titled “Cheap Tricks & Cheesy One Liners”) as the Great Tantrum of ‘18. Peter was teething. It was fascinating, how quickly his front two teeth were pushing through. Next, he’d be driving and receiving his doctorate.
What was not fascinating, though, was the set of lungs the kid had. Apparently, growing teeth wasn’t as fun as it looked because the kid had started crying and chewing on everything and crying harder when it didn’t alleviate the pain. Tony had tried everything he knew: the teething ring, a cold washcloth, some chilled fruit. Nothing seemed to help the pain, and Peter would scream a little harder at Tony.
When the elevator chimed, and the doors slid open, Tony almost cried. Steve sauntered in, his luggage rolling behind him.
“Hey baby, I’m back- what happened in here?” Steve stopped at the edge of the couch and paused. The coffee table was littered with bowls of fruit, and various colored wash clothes. The floor had a pile of teddy bears and teething rings that Peter had flung aside in his tiny fit of rage.
“Hi. Welcome back. Now fucking help me.” Tony turned his bloodshot eyes on Steve, thrusting the baby into his arms. He was so happy to see his fiance, he was, but he couldn’t feel the joy when the pounding headache had beat his happiness to a pulp.
Steve didn’t seem too thrown off by the mess, because he took Peter and immediately pressed a finger to Peter’s red gums and began to massage the front of his mouth. Peter sobered quicker than Tony did in the Fountain Incident of 1997. (Tony had gotten high off his ass and took a quick swim in the fountain at MIT and sobered immediately when he saw Howard and the dean walking towards him.)
“How...how did-” Tony watched Peter rest his head on Steve’s chest and silence washed over the child. He was content. He’d be screaming for the last 48 hours, and now with Steve’s finger in his mouth he was content? Tony’s eye twitched.
“I don’t know. I read about it somewhere. I didn’t think it’d work.” Steve stepped over a pink teething ring which now had a hole in the plastic and all the water left the carpet damp. He sat on the couch and looked down at Peter who looked like he was ready to fall asleep.
“I hate you.” Tony grumbled. “I hate you so much.”
Tony Stark, the youngest MIT admit. Summa cum laude, the twenty year old genius is preparing to graduate. He's volatile, self-obsessed, and doesn't play well with others. Those are expected of him when he's living at home with an abusive father. But no one expects for him to take a high schooler under his wing while he's home for Christmas break. But he's a visionary and he sees himself in Peter. He knows Peter has potential. But does Tony have the potential to mentor a kid he just met and fight his own demons?
here have some sick!tony, that no one asked for because I’m bored and emotionally preparing myself for FFH, tomorrow. ahahahah, here you go.
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Peter’s animated soliloquy was put on hold when Happy’s phone rang.
“And for lunch I ate--”
“Hang on kid, Boss is calling.” Happy pressed the phone to his ear. Peter perked up. On Fridays, Happy picked Peter up from Midtown, sometimes with Mr. Stark and sometimes without. He spent most of his weekends at the compound with Tony, either training or building, both of which were incredible. Tony calling Happy, though, typically wasn’t in the schedule.
“Yeah, I got the kid.” Happy spoke into the phone. “Yeah, he said he has the suit-- bless you. We’re almost there. Maybe ten minutes away? We-- bless you! We can stop and pick up some-- bless you-- some soup. Jesus, Tony, did you call me just so you can try and infect me through the phone or is there a point to this-- bless you-- to this conversation?”
Peter’s eyebrows knitted together. Happy blessed Mr. Stark a few more times and ended the call. “Is he okay, Happy?”
Happy sighed, and pulled into the garage. “He’s sick but he won’t admit it so just don’t ask him about it.”
___
There were only so many kicks a dog could take before it turned vicious. Or rather, there was only so many times Tony could overwork himself before he grew numb to the common cold. Tony was hunched over the island in the kitchen, a red kitten patterned blanket wrapped around his shoulders, as he squinted at the lights of the computer screen.
“Hey, Boss?”
Tony lifted his head, sluggishly. He trained his bloodshot eyes on Happy. His nose was as red as the blanket that hung around his shoulders. His hair wasn’t done like it typically was. It hung in his face, matted to his forehead with sweat but he hardly seemed to notice. Tony licked his chapped, cracked lips, dragging in a rattling breath.
“The kid is here. Maybe, instead of going to the lab, you can have a movie night. The kid looked pretty wiped.” Happy quipped. He knew Tony too well. If he accused the man of being sick, he’d send himself into a downward spiral of denial.
Tony squinted at Happy, and opened his mouth. Instead of responding, he sneezed. Then he sneezed again. And then he sneezed five too many times.
“You also look like you could use the rest.” Happy added softly.
Tony glared at him through watery eyes. “I’m fine. It’s just allergies.”
Happy rolled his eyes. “I hate you.”
“Oh please,” Tony shut his laptop and clambered to his feet. The blanket slipped off his shoulder and he immediately shivered and wrapped himself up. “Don’t get my hopes up. You almost gave me a hard-on with that idea. At least tell me that your hatred for me will last longer than thirty seconds.” Tony pressed his sweatshirt sleeve to his angry red nose.
“Just go watch High School Musical with your insect buddy.”
Tony would’ve responded but he doubled over coughing.
___
“Kid, you’re telling me that I’m supposed to enjoy them breaking into song in the lunch room? Young Zac Efron is giving me a migraine.”
Peter looked at Tony like he had grown another head. He stuffed another handful of popcorn in his mouth. “That’s the fever talking.”
“I’ll kill you,” Tony glared though it lacked any heat.
“No, you won’t. You like that I piss of Happy and if I die, he’ll go back to pestering you.”
“Alright, fair.”
“Now, shh, Gabriella is about to spill spaghetti on Sharpay.”
Tony sneezed again and Peter wasn’t sure if the “Jesus Christ” that followed was directed at him or the sneezing. He didn’t care.
Loud--er, obnoxious footsteps hit the snowy pavement and echoed in the quiet street. His black combat boots squeaked from the snow beneath the sole, dark washed jeans hanging dangerously low from his hips. His red shirt was fastened only partially, exposing only one of many scars across his chest. His windswept hair was tousled and hung in his eyes which were shaded by dark sunglasses. Rhodey wasn’t sure if it was to hide the black eye he was sporting, or take the edge off the hangover. Either way, it wasn’t nearly warm enough outside to warrant his wardrobe choices. The brisk New York winter would eat him alive.
“Tony, you’re gonna freeze to death.” James fussed, trailing behind his friend. Tony huffed out a laugh and fished around in his pocket until he pulled out a cigarette. He placed it between his lips.
“If you had just let me drive,” Tony tugged out a lighter. “You wouldn’t have to worry about me catching a little cold, now would you?”
Rhodey rolled his eyes. “Tough.”
He watched Tony take a long drag from the cigarette before snatching the stick from between his fingers. He dropped it into the snow and stomped it out. “Exercise is good for you. Plus, I’m not too keen on watching you get into a chase with the police.” “Again” hung heavy in the air but it went without saying because Tony had only gotten into a high speed chase only a few weeks ago. They couldn’t have forgotten something of that caliber.
“The fuck--” Tony growled. “Do you get off to pissing on my parade, Rhodey? Seriously, man! Listen! I know I'm asking the impossible from you, but for once in your life, don’t be such a goddamn narc.”
Rhodey snorted. At this point, he remained completely unphased by any and all of Tony’s tantrums. “Stop your bitching, Tones. I gotta keep you around for longer than twenty years. Happy made me the babysitter. Otherwise you wouldn’t be spending Christmas at my house.”
“No,” Tony smirked. He peeked at James over the brim of his sunglasses. “I’m staying with you to spite my father.” God, Howard Stark. A ruthless businessman who didn’t know how to be a father when it counted. Abusive in the name of greatness. He was a monster and a genius. James was familiar with the many mornings when he walked into the living room of his dorm to find Tony nursing a bottle of whiskey and watching paint dry. It typically meant he had just had a very colorful conversation with his father, if the yelling hadn’t already given that away. “And I was thinking,”
“That’s never good.”
“I was thinking,” Tony pressed. “There're eighty-six thousand, four hundred seconds in a day, right? There are one thousand, four hundred and forty minutes in a day...Around eighty-seven hundred and then some hours in a year, and you know what?”
Rhodey sighed. “What, Tony?”
“I want to spend every second, every minute, every hour making Howard’s life a shit show.” Tony laughed maniacally. While they walked, Tony subconsciously lifted a hand to his swollen cheek. It was the only evidence of the black eye that Howard had given him that wasn’t concealed by the frames.
“I want to tap dance on his grave. I’ll take a piss in the casket at his funeral! I want him to take ownership of his rightful position in hell.” The hatred was so palpable, Rhodey momentarily felt sick. Casually, Tony dug around in his jacket pocket and pulled out a pack of gum. He offered Rhodey a slice, who shook his head and proceeded to stuck three pieces of bright pink bubble gum into his mouth.
“Jesus, Tones. The man isn’t even dead yet.”
“Yet, but he will be after I give him the news.”
Rhodey faltered, his eyebrows rising in question. Tony broke into a wide sinister smile, reminding Rhodey briefly of the Cheshire Cat.
“I’m not going to inherit Stark Industries!” The laugh seemed to bubble out of Tony but it was more malicious than filled with mirth. “I don’t want it. I don’t want to create weapons. I want to build! I want to build my own stuff, not finish what Howard didn’t.”
“Tones--” A scream cut through the quiet street. Rhodey turned towards the high school coming up on their right. The cry had come from around the gate that fenced Midtown High School. Beside him, Tony took off. James reached out for him but missed his wrist by an inch. He sighed and took off after Tony, towards the school.
The scream shattered the silence and Tony was moving before he knew what he was doing. He knew that type of scream. It was different from a yell of defiance, or a yell of surprise, but jagged and sharp. Anguish. Someone was hurt.
What was he going to do? Bust on to school grounds and play Superman? He hadn’t exactly thought that far ahead but his day had been spectacularly bland thus far. Trespassing sounded like a fun addition to his afternoon.
Tony turned the corner, his boots skidding along the ice. There was a kid, pressed against the side of the building, clutching his jaw. There was a slightly taller boy towering him.
“What did I tell you about making me look stupid in front of the class?” The kid had jet black hair, cut short and spiked at the top. He wore a large coat, with fur around the collar. God, he looked like a dickwad. He towered the smaller kid who looked a lot like...the mouse from whatever the hell that kids movie was. Despereaux. He was scrawny, pale and freckled, with huge brown eyes that took up the majority of his face and a small upturned button nose. He looked like a walking, talking Disney character with his large ears and innocent gaze. He also seemed to be on the verge of tears, if the redness rimming his eyes served as any indication and the quivering of his busted bottom lip. God, Tony knew how much a busted lip hurt.
Despereaux flinched. “I just answered a question.”
“Yeah, after I got it wrong!” The dickwad clenched his fist. “What did I tell you about doing that? You made me look like a moron!” He swung his arm and it connected with the small boy’s stomach. Tony felt lightheaded as the kid yelped and crumpled into the pile of snow. Apparently, the jackass wasn’t done because he dropped to his knees and took the kid by his backpack straps. Tony had seen enough.
“I-I’m sorry-”
“Aye!” Both parties paused. Tony was vaguely aware of Rhodey cursing behind him and pulling out his phone, probably to call Happy to get him out of whatever trouble he was going to get himself into. “ I would ask what the fuck it is you think you're doing, but...you are a teenager. You probably can’t form an intelligible answer yet.” Tony sauntered over. He took the large kid by the fur collar and tugged him off of the mousy boy.
Surprise widened his eyes. “I’m sixteen.”
Tony ignored his dry tone. “I’m so proud that you can count that high! It's a testament to the modern American educational system. But I should probably point out that you are not the only sixteen year old here. I'm told you go to a school with a whole class of -get this- kids who are sixteen." Tony jabbed his finger at the kid.
“Um, sir, I’m fourteen.” The young boy raised his hand from where he laid in the snow.
“Oh,” All Tony could see was father, fists clenched. “You’re picking on a kid that’s two years younger than you? What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you a moron or just pathetic?” Tony seethed. Not all abuse was physical, but Tony had fallen victim to all types of it. He was shattered. This demon, this little snot rag was a pint sized Howard and if someone didn’t set him straight, someone else would have to pay for what Tony didn’t do. He began to step forward but Rhodey placed a hand on his shoulder to keep him from advancing.
“I--”
“I don’t want to hear it! Picking on someone smaller than you is a dick move. You’re a little asshole and karma is gonna kick your ass so hard, I’m going to piss my shorts laughing in your face! Scram before I get you expelled.”
“You can’t do that!”
“Oh, I can't?" Tony didn't like people telling him what he could and couldn't do. Now he'd get him expelled for shits and giggles. "Does the name Tony Stark ring a bell?”
The kid burrowing into the snow seemed to light up. “The heir of Stark Industries?”
“Bingo!”
The bully paled. Now that he was facing Tony, he could see Flash was etched into his jacket. That was his name? No wonder he was a Grade A piece of shit. If Rhodey wasn’t there, he would’ve kicked the kid into next semester. He was escaping prison with a feather.
“Beat it.” Tony spat and apparently the kid had one working brain cell because he took off down the street.
James let out a breath first, removing his hand from Tony’s tense shoulders. “That could’ve gotten ugly.”
“It already was.” Tony turned back to the small kid who was sitting himself up. He kneeled and reached for the kid, who flinched. “Whoa, hey, easy. I’m not gonna hurt you.” Tony took on a tone that was saved exclusively for wounded animals and fussy babies. The kid stared up at him with the brightest brown eyes he’d ever seen. He looked at Tony like he held the stars in his hands. It made him a little anxious. He shuddered. It was cold outside.
“What’s your name, kid?” Tony scanned the kid’s face to inspect the damage. His lip was cut but the blood had already slowed. His cheek was rosy between getting punched and the cold but he didn’t seem too bad off. Prognosis: he’d live.
“P-Peter. Parker. I’m Peter Parker, sir. I’m fourteen and I’m freshman here.” Peter, apparently, stammered.
“Aye, alright Chatterbox. I asked for your name, not your social security number and your address.” Tony moved to his feet and looked at the kid. He stepped back and folded his arms over his chest, allowing Rhodey to move in and help the teenager to his feet.
“Thanks for helping me, by the way. Flash, uh, he’s always been like this. I’ve started looking forward to our afternoon dates of post-chemistry pummeling.” Peter rubbed his stomach, attempting to chase away the ache of being hit there. Tony subconsciously placed a hand on his abdomen in empathy. He’d been there.
“Peter, you should tell a teacher. Bullying is a very serious issue.” Tony snorted. Rhodey was, at his core, The Babysitter.
Peter blushed and hung his head like a chastised puppy. Rhodey looked to Tony, who looked at Rhodey, who shrugged. Neither of them had exceptional experience with children but this was Rhodey’s field. He had younger siblings. Just as Tony was going to let James take the reigns, his phone rang. James squinted at the screen. For a 23 year old, he was about as tech savvy as a 83 bingo player.
“It’s Happy,” he thrust the phone towards Tony.
“I don’t like being handed things.”
Rhodey looked unamused as he turned to take the call.
“Hey kid, do you live around these parts?”
Peter nodded eagerly. “Yeah, a few miles uptown. I always walk home because my aunt has to work most of the time.”
“I’ll take you home. It’s much too cold out here. You’ll freeze to death.” God, he thought. I've been spending too much time with Rhodey. Gross.
“Are you sure, Mr. Stark? It’s not that far. I don’t want to inconvenience you.”
“What did you just call me?”
Peter opened his mouth and then closed it back. “Mr. Stark,” he whispered. The kid was aging him. Mr. Stark was his father. He was Anthony. Tony, on good days.
Tony scowled but he didn’t say anything.
They stood in thick silence when James returned.
“Happy is up the street.” Rhodey relayed. “We’ll take Peter home, and then we’ll go to my house.”
Tony nodded and Peter grinned.
“Thanks, Mr. Stark and Mr.-” Peter faltered.
“Rhodes.” Tony cut in before Rhodey could tell him to just call him James. If the infant was gonna make him feel old, Rhodey could suffer right alongside him.
“Thank you, Mr. Rhodes.”
When Happy pulled up, Tony expected to get an earful about jumping into the middle of a fight at a high school but instead, he was greeted by seat warmers and silence.
“Your chauffeur’s name is Happy?” Peter whispered in Tony’s ear from where he was sandwiched between him and Rhodey.
“I’m not his chauffeur, I’m his handler.” Happy called from the front seat.
Tony snorted. “He’s a chauffeur.”
He caught Happy roll his eyes as he shut the divider.
“That’s my apartment!” Peter pointed enthusiastically after they drove a few blocks.
“I guess that’s his apartment.” Rhodey muttered.
Happy pulled the car aside and Tony got out of the car, letting Peter slide out behind him.
“I’ll be right back.” He said, sticking his head back in the door.
“Where are you--” He slammed the door in Rhodey’s face.
Peter hooked his fingers into the straps of his backpack. “This way, Mr. Stark!”
Tony nodded and followed in silence.
The building was derelict. The apartment might once have been great but not much appeal was left to it. The husk of the old building has a grimy roof with broken tiles, remnants of shattered glass in rotting wooden frames, mortar and stone crumbling, graffiti, garbage, stink of urine, and ghosts of the 70s.
But as they climbed the desolate stairs to the third floor, it got a bit nicer. At least C47 was nice. There was a decorative sign on the front door that read, “Leave your shoes and worries at the door” in colorful calligraphy. Tony snorted and watched as Peter nudged open the door.
“Aunt May?” He called into the quiet apartment. “I brought home a friend!”
“Peter, I swear on all that is Holy, if you brought home another cat, I’m going to go mad! You really need to stop doing that, by the way. You are enough to handle, without the added stress of an animal-- oh my, that’s a human boy.” Tony blinked as the woman rounded the corner. She wore jeans and raggedy sweater that was stretched from years of wear and tear. She had large round glasses perched on her face and her hair was up in a bun. She also had freckles, similar to the kid next to him. Oh, she was foxy. In a nerdy way.
He wanted to play connect the dots with all her freckles and see exactly where it led him--
“His name is Tony!” Peter bounded past Tony and ran to the woman, giving her a hug.
“Well, hello Tony. I'm May.” She laughed and scooped Peter into her embrace. She planted a kiss on his forehead and the action was so simple and domestic that he had to look away. He wondered what that was like. “I’m very happy you’re not another cat.”
“Huh,” Tony huffed out laugh. “Yeah, aren’t we all? Uh, I’m Tony, like the squirt here said. Um, I caught some asshol--” Tony cleared his throat “--jerk, beating up on your kid. I scared him off and I thought you might want Pietro here returned in one piece.”
Peter scrunched his nose. “Peter.”
“Whatever.”
May was silent for a while, watching Tony. Tony looked around the apartment, taking in the old couch, the small box tv, the tiny kitchen to his left. This was the size of his bedroom alone. He wasn’t judging...just curious. He looked over and caught May’s gaze. It bore into him, knocking through the solid wall around his soul and taking a gander through his deepest fears and darkest secrets. He shivered. Something about the way she looked at him made him know that she saw through everything. She saw through his sunglasses, expensive jewelry, the fast cars and the fifteen credit cards. She saw through him and saw Tony. She saw him.
“Thank you so much, Tony.”
Tony flinched at the sound of his name. He cleared his throat and moved to the coffee table. He sketched down his number on a spare piece of mail laying there. A bill, most likely.
“Hey kid, call me if you ever need anything. Anything at all.”
Peter reddened. “Thank you, Mr. Stark.”
“Don’t mention it, Pablo.” He winked at May and quickly vacated the room.
He didn’t release the breathe he was holding until he was in the hallway. They were an interesting group of people. He thought about Aunt May all the way back to the car.
“Is the kid okay?" Rhodey shifted so Tony could slide in next to him. "Why are you making that face? You’re making your sexy face. Why are you making your sexy face? You’re not trying to bone the poor boy’s parents are you?”
“Nah, nah, I’m not a monster.” Tony snorted. “I’m trying to bone his aunt. “
“You’re going to hell.”
“And I’m taking you with me.”
“Ninety percent of intelligence is knowing when to shut up.”
The corners of his mouth tipped up. “I’m fifty percent money, eighty percent genius and seventy percent caffeine.”
“That’s…” Tony watched Rhodey do the mental math. “That’s two hundred percent.”
He slid his sunglasses off. “Exactly.”
Tony leaned back, his eyes closing and let Queens disappear around him as they drove towards his own personal hell.
asjdhljskdchnajsk i forgot to ask if it was gonna be posted on ao3 so I can bookmark it cause I just needed to tell you I loved it first ahhhhh im sorry
Don’t be sorry. You are such a gem.
Yes! It’s in AO3. I’m on AO3 under this same user as here. The series is called The Cycle of Shame AU and the story is called The Legacy of Glass.
If there’s anything in particular you’d like to see, by all means, message me or comment or shoot me an ask. I want everyone’s input as much as possible. This AU is a community work, not my own personal thing. Love you. Xx
